The Dreamers
by scarylolita
Summary: Kenny doesn't dream. Instead, he sees the future. When he shuts his eyes he sees images of what's yet to be flickering in his mind, but with such an extraordinary power comes a heavy burden. When he foresees the death of one of his classmates, he decides to take action and see if, for the first time, he can change the future. Is Craig Tucker's life worth the trouble? Slash.
1. The future

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

**I like ruining Craig's life. ****All my Kenny/Craig fics have the weakest plots I just want an excuse to torture this cute lil shit (and use Jason to do it). Kenny's POV.**

**Warnings: humiliation, druggie/OOC Craig, a creepy hick, Jason/Craig**

* * *

><p><em>The consequence of desperate emotion comes swiftly and surely.<em>

_It's hazy. I dream about Craig and he's one of those fucked up kids – the kind who stays out late with old men, smoking and drinking and laughing. I dream about him becoming something I thought most people moved far away from. But I suppose it's nothing out of the ordinary in this pestilent hellhole called South Park._

_Summer has arrived and the night is warm. There isn't a snowflake on the ground. Craig stands in a pair of loose basketball shorts and a torn t-shirt, talking to a bunch of old farts outside the pub. The mustached redneck sitting on a couple of stacked milk crates gropes his ass, giving it a hard smack before croaking, "Why don't you give us a little show?" They always want more. They are never satisfied. He could let his shorts ride low enough that his pubes were showing and they'd still want to see more. If he stripped down, the next thing they'd want is for him to bend over and spread his cheeks so they could look up his damn rectum._

_Skeeter lets out a drunken laugh and says, "That's my nephew you're groping." He thinks it's funny._

_Craig lips quirk upward but it is void of all human emotion. There's nothing there – not in his eyes, not in his smile. It's like he's empty, searching desperately for thought and feeling. He sits on the hick's lap, grinding his hips in a suggestive downward motion before settling. He's quiet. He says not a word, but he looks content amongst the silent dysfunction._

_The cool wind sings in his face as Skeeter offers him a cigarette. With another void smile, he takes it – pressing it to his lips as his uncle lights it. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply._

_The night continues and midnight passes. Skeeter leaves his nephew and drives home drunk. Everyone else follows. Soon, Craig is left alone with the hick who is all hands. He stands up, turning around to stare at the man. "Do it," Craig challenges him. These are the first words he's spoken all night. _

_"Do what?" he asks._

_"Fuck me," Craig says in a demand. "Hurt me. I want to feel something. I want to feel scared. I want to feel alive." Because, to Craig, it's the same damn thing._

_The redneck moves forward in a slow and hazy motion, wrapping calloused fingers around Craig's throat. Craig cranes his slender neck and stares up at the man with those tragic blue eyes of his._

_It's a humid night. They move into the man's pick-up truck and Craig inhales before peeling his clothes off shamelessly. It smells like tobacco – nothing atypical. He mounts the man and grinds his hips in a way he's done so many times before, releasing soft, breathy moans._

_When it's over, Craig feels numb again. He lifts himself off of the man, letting out a shuddery breath. He feels wet between his legs – unpleasantly so. He sits in the passenger seat, ignoring the mess he's making, and grabs his clothes. "Just let me out," he says, rattling the locked door handle._

_"You're not going to get dressed first?"_

_"It's raining out so there's no point," Craig points out. "Plus, it's late. No one will see."_

_"You really should get dressed… You'll get sick…"_

_"I don't care," Craig says flatly, growing impatient. "Let me out, old man."_

_Nothing._

_Craig turns around and gives him a look of disbelief. "Hurry up!" he snaps. _

_The man doesn't look swayed. Instead, he reaches into the back seat of the car and what he pulls out makes Craig's heart stop in his chest. "What's that for?" he asks weakly, staring at the hammer._

_"I'm going to kill you," the man says easily. _

_Because sluts don't get to choose. _

_Craig begins to panic. When the tool is swung, he holds out his hands, trying to block the brunt of the hit. He feels his fingers snap and the pain is blinding. He lets out a ragged scream that sounds like a string of sobs and he's unable to block the hits that follow._

_There's nothing worse than knowing when you're about to die. For Craig, it happens quickly. There's pain in the back of his head and then there's nothing at all._

* * *

><p><em>Across town, the prostitutes are finishing work. At four in the morning, Frida makes her way home after a long night. She walks past familiar alleyways, strolling effortlessly until something catches her eyes. It looks like a person but as she moves closer, she sees two dead eyes staring up at the sky as if it's home. What was once a boy is now a slab of meat, limp and still left on the street like road kill. But this was no hit and run. Realization dawns upon her weary self and she screams, calling for help.<em>

_Then it's quiet – just the rain, just the wind, just the soft whispers of a curious night crowd and the wail of approaching sirens._

_"Just a boy," she tearfully tells the cops. "He was just a boy." And she saw this one around before – always with the older men, he was the kind who looked for danger. She never paid it much mind. She lets the kids do what they want. It's not her business who lives on the edge._

_But this one bit the dust. Danger found Craig Tucker and it was hardly kind. The back of his head is like a bog, muddy and matted with blood – soft and splintered with debris and wet with gore. Then there are his wide eyes – dull and glazed over with a fear so strong it still remains present even in death. There are specks of dirt stuck to his eyelashes. His lips lost color – parted with sudden shock that went hand in hand with the pain. He is white as a sheet and cold as the winter snow. A streak of silt clutters his otherwise unblemished face – still beautifully intact like the statue of a marble angel whose wings were clipped._

_But Craig was no angel._

_Six broken fingers. Three cracked ribs. A blow so hard and deep to the chest it could've crushed his heart, but no, none of that is what killed him. The coroner's report reads BLUNT TRAUMA. It is a hit to the head that did him in when he tried to get away._

_One year later his mom will still sit at home on the sofa in a housecoat, watching home videos of his youth and looking through old photo albums – when the times were still happy._

_Mommy will cry and Daddy will get drunk and Ruby will be all alone. She'll put her head on her Mommy's lap but her Mommy won't even notice. They'll do anything to forget that their only son was found naked and sprawled out in one of South Park's gnarly orifices by a hooker. They'll do anything to forget about the rumors that spun around screaming whore, whore, whore! Your baby boy was a dirty whore!_

_Good things come to those who wait but death isn't kind to those who don't care. Perhaps Craig realized all too late that life is precious. He didn't want to die, that much was clear… but still, for the first time in my life I understand what Kenneth Kramer meant when he said death is an art because Craig was eerily beautiful even in parting._

.

.

.

Butters is going to bring a bologna sandwich to school tomorrow. Red is going to break up with Jason in exchange for an open relationship with Kevin Stoley. Kyle is going to score the final shot in this week's basketball game. Stan is going to skip class and get an untimely weekend detention. Randy is going to get drunk and arrested. Bebe is going to find twenty bucks on her way home. Wendy is going to get her feminist article published in the local newspaper. Token will ask Nichole to the school dance and she'll happily accept. Lola is going to get a haircut and she'll thank me for being the only one to notice. Eric will continue suppressing every homosexual urge he feels when he sees Kyle and instead, he'll act ten times as cruel to compensate. Clyde will get a promotion at Wal-Mart. Tweek will green out in class again. Jimmy and Timmy will have another fight, but they'll make up at the end of the day.

These are the kinds of things I typically see. These are the kind of happy, mindless or typical events I dream of. They always come true. But this is different. I wake up sweating and I wake up scared. Just like midnight, I now know Craig's dirty secret. I know where he'll be when the snow melts away and I know what will happen because of it.

I've dreamt about Craig before, but nothing like this. Last month I dreamt about him stepping on a wad of gum on his way to the bus stop, cussing the entire way. A few months before that, I dreamt about him and Jason having an argument – a seemingly pointless one that blew over rather fast. That's nothing compared to this. I've never dreamt about someone dying. I've never dreamt about something this vile. I feel like I'm suffocating. I rip the blankets off of me and get out of bed, pacing and wringing my fingers through my stringy, unwashed hair.

I want to help him. But can I? This is new territory for me. I've never intervened before, but I've questioned. I've asked time and time again why I have these dreams. Maybe it was leading up to this – saving somebody's life.

I've never seen that man before. I don't know how to figure out who he is. I wonder if Craig saw him around, or if he'll be meeting him for the first time. He doesn't care who he lets slip inside of him and I think that's kind of sad. But I always knew that. Craig has a famous reputation that he doesn't seem to care about. There's all kinds of shit he should be careful of, but he's not.

I close my eyes and take a string of slow, deep breaths. It's time for school and I can't be late again. There is still snow on the ground outside. That means I have time, so I push all thoughts aside. I get dressed in yesterday's clothes, grab my school bag and leave. No time for a shower and even if there was, we have no hot water. Livin' the life, I am. These are the perks of being poor white trash.

I run to catch the bus, arriving just in time. I sit down in the first empty spot I find. When the bus starts moving, I turn around. Kyle and Stan are sitting in the back with Butters and Eric. Craig is sitting with Red. She's talking and he looks bored. I never really understood their friendship, but I see them kiss sometimes. I think they hook up.

I don't even want to fucking look at him, to be quite frank. All I can see is him lying in an alleyway naked and dead. How degrading. I don't want that image to be one I associate with him for the rest of my life.

I face the front and lean my head against the window. It rattles unpleasantly as the bus drives, but I don't even care.

Shit happens. Shit always happens and things change because of it. Change is ever-present in my life. I've changed a lot as I grew up. Out of us all, I think Stan changed the least. He wears the same haircut and moons over the same girl. Similarly, Kyle still looks a lot like that nerdy kid he used to be. He still has a lot of curly hair, but he keeps it a bit shorter these days. He's pretty willowy, but he's not quite as tall as Eric. Believe it or not puberty was kind to Eric. He's still broad and little chubby, but he's handsome. He wears his weight well these days. I can't help but wonder if Kyle thinks so, too. Kyle is a virgin. You can practically smell it on him. He's the only virgin in our group of friends. Even Butters isn't a virgin. But I guess Kyle wants to wait until he's found the right person. I can respect that. It takes a lot to hold fast and not go along with what everyone else is doing.

I lost my virginity when I was twelve. I was far too young. I get that now, but at the time I just wanted it gone. I was a horny little shit. I still am. Some things don't change.

I lift my head and stare out the window, watching the houses go by. The ride is fairly short and soon enough, the bus pulls to a halt. I get off and make my way inside, strolling to grab my books.

Craig shoves his way through the hallway, paddling past his peers. Clyde is next to him, looking somewhat wary. I grab him by the arm and decide to be nosy. "What the fuck is wrong with Craig?" I ask Clyde as his volatile best friend swerves past me.

"He hasn't been taking his pills this week," Clyde answers in a hushed tone, "So, don't talk to him. He's kind of mental."

Contrary to popular belief, Craig is volatile. One wrong move and he'll _snap_. That's why he's not big on people. According to Bebe, "All Craig does is sit around smoking weed and jacking off." It sounds like a pretty empty life to me, but I guess he likes it like that. She says he has very limited personality and people just want to fuck him because he looks nice. She'll add that the saddest part of it all is that he always lets them. Even those who don't know Craig personally have heard the rumors. When it comes to sex, he's capricious. And talented. I guess, for kids like Craig, sex is just another form of self-harm.

For some reason, knowing he's being medicated doesn't really surprise me – especially not after last night's dream. Or maybe I should start calling it a nightmare. That's what it was. There has to be something wrong with his head for him to be acting out so insanely. Even I wouldn't touch that nasty, old hick. Everyone needs to have standards.

"Duly noted," I mumble. Nonetheless, Craig hears us. He spins around at rapid speed, darting towards me. He grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and punches me square in the face.

_Crack!_

The Crystals had it right. He hit me and it felt like a fuckin' kiss.


	2. The strip tease

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

**I'm so excited about us finally learning Craig's mom's name and kind of having an episode about her. She's really awesome. She's probably my favorite parent! **

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><p>Ever since the dream I've had, I've been trying to learn more about Craig… <em>discretely<em>. He's become something of an obsession of mine. I'm not sure whether it was the dream or the punch he delivered, but I can't stop thinking about him. When his fist landed in my face, I knew I wanted to put my dick in his ass. Maybe that's fucked up on my part, but I can't find it in me to care.

He's rarely in class. Even now, he's nowhere in sight. We're in English. The teacher is droning on about Shakespeare and shit. I am getting pretty bored. I ask to go to the bathroom, partly because I actually need to use it but mostly just because I'm restless and want to walk around. When I go to take a piss, I'm immediately greeted with the strong, potent scent of marijuana. At least it's better than smelling shit.

I enter one of the stalls and do my business. When I'm finished I stand on the toilet seat, peeking over the edge into the next stall over. Speak of the devil. Craig is in there doing what he does best – smoking weed _and_ jacking off. In one hand there's a joint, in the other… his dick. Nothing I haven't seen before in my prophetic dream, I suppose.

"Nice view," I comment.

Craig glances up, giving me a dull stare. "Are you a voyeur?" he asks me. He doesn't look embarrassed at being caught.

"Are you an exhibitionist?" I retort. "Jacking off in the school bathroom? Really, Craig?"

"Mhm," is all he says, but he doesn't stop. Clearly, he's not shy and he doesn't care that I'm here watching him like a pervert.

Still… the entire situation is kind of hot. He's really good looking. I can't help but stare. My asshole literally throbs when I look at him. "Are you still mad at me?" I ask, mostly for the sake of saying something.

"For…?" He pauses, staring at me. I guess I'm ruining the mood.

I snort back a laugh. "You don't remember punching me in the face?"

"That was months ago," he scoffs. He takes one more puff of the joint before dropping it in the toilet.

"So, you're not mad?"

"I wasn't mad to begin with," he admits.

"That's surprising," I say. "You always seem mad." He only shrugs and I can't help but stare at his neglected erection. "Gonna take care of that?"

He gives me a look of impatience. "Get the fuck out of here, perv."

With a smirk, I relent.

* * *

><p>The rest of the school day goes by slowly. I wonder if Craig finished masturbating or if I killed the mood. God damn, that picture is going to stay fresh in my mind for quite a while. Maybe it'll overwrite the one of his corpse.<p>

Since it's a Friday, that means the weekend is here. Praise Jesus.

"Hey, ho," Eric greets, sidling up next to me as I leave the building.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a whore. I hate that damn word, but I'm using it in context here – I don't have sex with people for money or anything like that. It's just a rumor. There are lots of rumors floating around about me and most of them are all thanks to Eric Cartman. He thinks it's funny. Hell, even I find some of them funny… but the point is this: none of them are true.

"What's up?" I ask him and he just shrugs. "Clyde's having a party tonight," I mention. "Are you coming?"

"Eh…" Eric makes a face. "Parties… weed… hippies. We'll see."

I let out a laugh. "Right."

We make our way to the bus stop and board the orange vehicle. Inside I spot Craig. I give him a lewd smile as I walk past him where he's seated. A second later, Eric grabs me by the jacket and we sit down. "What the fuck is that about?" he asks me.

"What?" I feign naivety.

"You fucking know what," he mutters. "You and Craig?"

"No," I say before flat out admitting, "I wish."

Eric snorts back a laugh. "Why? He fuckin' sucks."

"He's so hot I'd _pay_ to suck his dick," I say with a longing sigh, "or lick his ass."

"TMI," Eric grimaces.

"Fuck, he could spit in my mouth for all I care," I finish.

"You're a nasty fuck." Eric shakes his head a me.

I don't deny it, but hey, I'm not the nastiest guy around here. I'm betting that's Craig.

* * *

><p>Come night, I make my way to Clyde's. When I get there, I ask him if I can use his shower since I feel pretty rank stewing in my own juices. "Sure, dude," he says. "Towels are in the linen closet."<p>

I nod my thanks and wander upstairs. It's pretty loud. There are already people dancing drunk and it's only six. After grabbing a towel, I enter the bathroom. I turn on the taps and practically peel my clothes off my sticky body. Gross. I decide to leave the door unlocked in case anyone needs to hurl. When the water is hot enough, I step into the shower and close the glass door. It feels inexplicably good to finally get clean.

Halfway through, I hear the shuffling from the other side of the glass. I decide to ignore it until I'm finished rinsing off. I step outside and see Kyle with his head in the toilet and Eric standing by watching as he dumps his guts out. Poor fucker never can hold his liquor.

"Kenny," Eric says my name.

"Eric," I respond with his, grabbing a towel and drying off. I'm surprised to see him, but then again where Kyle goes Eric follows. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Jew overdid it," he answers flatly. "Yet again."

And they say Stan is the big drinker. Ha! Not anymore. Kyle got a taste and it's been this way ever since. Fortunately, Eric doesn't mind playing the carer. Sometimes I think he might even enjoy it because he knows he can speak freely and Kyle won't even remember it. "Don't touch him," I warn, pointing a finger at the fat ass.

He looks scandalized. "I ain't gay!" he snaps. "I'm not gonna do nothin'! Besides, I wouldn't touch him like this… fuckin' messy."

Kyle lets out a miserable moan and says, "Shut up…"

I roll my eyes, throwing my clothes back on. "Want me to stay with him?" I ask Eric.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I got it."

Of course he does. I smile slyly and simply nod, giving him a pat on the shoulder on my way out. Downstairs, I see Craig with a drink in his hand. I decide to approach him.

"You look clean for once," he states when he sees me.

Asshole.

I shove my hands in my pockets and say, "Yeah, whatever. It's not my damn fault I can't afford to bathe every day. Not all of us have that luxury."

"No need to get all sour about it, fuckass," he responds.

His insults are always colorful. It makes me want to laugh out loud. Craig, of all people, calling _me_ sour? Ha. I am a beam of sunshine, especially compared to him. Nonetheless, I don't say any of that. I just change the subject and ask, "So, what are you drinking?"

"No idea," he admits. "Bebe made it."

I make an 'o' shape with my mouth. Before I can think of something else to say, Jason saunters towards us. He throws an arm around Craig, looking especially peevish. "Hey, 'sup, slut-bag?" he asks with a leering grin. I can't help but frown at that. What right does he have to talk like that?

Craig sneers at him, likely thinking the same thing. "Get off of me, you retard!" He shakes him off and stands near me, eying Jason like he's the scum of the earth.

"That's not what you used to say," Jason smirks. He looks like he's getting a kick out of the whole ordeal. Craig's lips part and I don't know if it's out of anger or surprise. "Dicks don't fly," Jason chortles, "but I betcha wish they did. It must hurt spending so much time on your knees."

"I'm gonna kick your stupid ass, bitch!" Craig snaps, sounding completely mental.

Oil and water, these two are. I swear. Jason is a dealer. He used to be good friends with Craig, but they had a falling out a couple years ago. I'm not sure why. Clearly they have history. Similar to the way Eric used to make Kyle his special victim, Jason does the same to Craig. Hey, maybe it means he's got a crush. Then again, probably not.

Jason now spends his time hanging around Bill and Fosse. Ever since Terrence moved away they've been trying to find someone to follow. Jason filled the gap happily.

Jason looks like a god damn caveman. He has the brow and everything. He's a sore sight next to a pretty guy like Craig. Fucking hell, Craig is good looking. He could sit on my face any day.

"I'd like to see you try," cave boy challenges.

"Yeah?" Craig asks.

"No," I cut in. "Craig, don't do anything stupid."

"Kiss my ass, you evil whore!" he shouts before shoving past me and stomping off. All I can do is stare in disbelief. What the hell did I do?

* * *

><p>Craig must've let Jason get to him, because next time I see him his disposition has changed drastically. This can only mean one thing – too much alcohol. "Hey," I call and he gives me a childish smile, holding up his cup and swirling their contents around. "Wanna slow down?" I ask him.<p>

"Hmmmm…" he muses thoughtlessly. "No."

"Dude, Craig…" I start. "You're gonna have an earth-shattering hangover in the morning if you don't chill out a bit."

He wrinkles his nose at me. "Go away, nobody asked you!"

I put a hand on his shoulder only to be shaken off a split second later. MIA's "Double Bubble Trouble" starts to blast on the stereo. Craig downs the rest of his drink, setting the cup down before jumping on the nearest table. He begins dancing to the music and, in his drunken state, he's not that bad. For a while, all I can do is watch. He's gonna fucking hate himself in the morning. Craig isn't the kind of guy who can just muster up the kind of alacrity it takes to do a thing like this and end it on a happy note.

"Go, baby!" Bebe whoops, chuckling at the sight. "Who knew he could move like that?"

I force a tight smile even though all I want to do is scream at everyone in the damn room because I know that a downfall will likely follow this seemingly harmless event. Everyone is too drunk to care.

A second later, Craig removes his shirt, tossing it at me. It lands in my face and I let out an angry breath. I keep hold of it, knowing he'll probably want it back later on. He's an audacious drunk. He's also incredibly spiteful.

When he reaches for his belt, I decide to put a stop to it. I'm sure the last thing he wants is to be that one naked dude at the party. I doubt he wants everyone talking about his strip show come Monday.

I toss his shirt over my shoulder and near the table he's dancing on. I reach forward and try to grab his hand, but he backs away. "Fuck off!" he shouts.

I grit my teeth together. "Fine!" I growl. "Do what you want!"

I stomp away after that. Fuck 'im. If he doesn't want me help, I'm not going to cause myself grief to try and force it on him. Damn it. I'm trying here. I really am. I'm trying to save his fucking life but he doesn't seem to give a shit about himself. He makes it impossible.

I spend the next hour wandering around, refusing to think about that fucker Craig Tucker.

* * *

><p>I spend the night in Clyde's bed with him since we are the only two people who don't drink ourselves to the point of incoherency. When morning comes, part of me wants to check on Craig and part of me wants to keep pretending I don't give a shit about what he does.<p>

"Hey…" I murmur aloud, wanting to know if Clyde is awake.

"Mm?" comes his groggy response.

"Why does Craig act the way he does?" I ask. "I mean… last night he was… _fucked_, to put things simply."

"He's always been like that," Clyde admits. "I mean… for as long as I can remember. He always seems to overdo it, but to be honest, he's not much different drunk than he is sober. The only thing that changes is he'll show anyone the filthy side of himself. When he's sober, he knows there's a time and place for it. I guess, in the end, he just hates himself. Shit happens and Craig will say, 'Oh, I guess this is life,' and he won't do a damn thing to change it. He convinces himself that since shit keeps happening he must deserve it and he lives with it. He rolls with whatever is thrown at him, even if it makes him wanna fucking kill himself."

"Sad," I mumble, giving my opinion on the matter.

"He'll probably end up dead in a ditch someday," Clyde says quietly. "I don't want him to… but at the same time I'm not being pessimistic. I'm being realistic. I guess I'm trying to prepare for it so when it happens I won't be so devastated. He's my best friend… and I love him… but he's not okay."

I smile bitterly up at the ceiling. Yeah, that's exactly where Craig is heading – the only difference is that instead of a ditch it's an alleyway. Same shit. Craig's going to die.

A minute later, Clyde's bedroom door creaks open to reveal Bebe. She's still in her party dress but she looks wide awake and ready to play mother. It's what happens every time. As much as she likes to party, she can handle her liquor and she spends the next morning taking care of every dumb ass who can't find the toilet.

"What's up?" Clyde asks her.

"It looks like Craig passed out without a stitch of clothing on, poor thing," she reveals. "I feel bad for encouraging him last night. I tried to wake him, but he's still conked. I want to at least throw a blanket over him. He's not going to be fun to deal with when he wakes up. Jason and a few other dumbasses were snorting lines off Craig's stomach after he passed out… I wasn't going to get in the middle of that."

Clyde grimaces and I can't help but sigh. "I told him to slow down," I mutter. "He didn't listen."

"He never does," Clyde says, sounding bitter.

"I don't think I've seen Craig sober in years," Bebe admits. "He's always drunk, stoned or worse."

"What's worse?" I ask.

"He just keeps going harder and harder," she says sadly. "Right now, it's cocaine. He seems to like it so he probably won't be quitting any time soon."

I grimace at that, not quite sure how to respond. Without further ado, Clyde stands up and moves towards his closet, getting out a blanket. The two of them leave the room – probably to tend to Craig.

I lie back down. I wish I had Kyle's big brain. Then maybe I could come up with a strategic plan – something smart enough… but I'm not manipulative like he is. I don't know how to act coy and cute. I don't know when to say the right things. I don't even know what the _right things_ are.

Sometimes I think Kyle is fully aware how Eric feels about him but the only reason he remains silent is because he's a little shit. Now, I say that affectionately. He's one of my best friends, after all, but he does have many faults. One of his biggest ones is that he beats around the bush. He doesn't know what he wants. Even when he has something he's unsure if he wants to keep it. That's probably why he drinks so much. It's numbing. I think Craig is like that, too. He doesn't know what he wants.

I decide not to waste any more time. I sit up and get out of bed, leaving the room. There aren't too many people left. There's Red asleep on the sofa with Kevin. Craig is smack-dab on the coffee table of all places with a dinosaur printed blanket draped over him. I move into the room and hover over him, giving him an unceremonious slap in the face. "Wakey, wakey," I sing.

His eyes flutter open and he squints, sitting up and immediately pressing a palm to his forehead. The blanket pools around his waist, just below his navel. "Ow…" he murmurs.

I cross my arms. "Hung over?" I assume.

"Why'd I do that?" he whispers, letting out a shuddery breath. He doesn't specify what exactly he's talking about, but I can take a wild guess.

"Because you were very drunk," I remind him flatly. "You let Jason get to you."

"I hate him," he bites out. "I hate him so fucking much…"

"I know," I say. I want to ask him why he continues to hang around Jason if he hates the bastard so much, but I don't. Instead, I walk away without another word, getting him a glass of water and some Tylenol. "Here," I say, handing them to him. He grunts some non-committal response, swallowing the pill with ease and downing the water. "Slowly," I warn him, not wanting him to hurl. I begin to search for his clothes. It's like a fucking scavenger hunt.

When I've found them all, I hand them to him and politely avert my eyes as he makes himself decent. When he's dressed, he discards the blanket and walks past me, moving into the kitchen. I follow him inside and when Clyde spots his best friend he offers him a tentative smile. "Hey…" he says.

"Hm," Craig grunts.

"Ever the wordsmith," Clyde comments quietly.

"Ever the annoying asshole," Craig returns, crossing his arms.

"Don't blame me for your mistakes," Clyde says. It doesn't look like he's in the mood for Craig's sass.

Bebe backs him up and adds, "The only person you have to blame is yourself."

Ouch. I have to admit I feel for him. Really, I do. He probably feels like everyone is against him. It's probably making him feel even lonelier. "Come on," I try to reason. "Jason started it."

"And Craig finished it," Clyde mutters. "In a big way." He glances at his best friend. "You know, dude, life is a lot easier if people like you… if you _let_ people like you."

Craig rubs his forehead, closing his eyes. "Please, just shut up…" he says weakly. "I'm going home," he adds. "Sorry."

He's gone after that and all we can do is stare at one another, unsure what to make of his apology.

"Craig used to be a private person," Clyde says offhandedly, "but Jason kind of ruined that by putting him on display in the past. I guess it's not really his fault he's like this."

"Oh," I murmur. I don't know what he means by that, but I don't really want to know either. I can't help but wonder if Jason is also the one who got him into drugs, but I won't pry. If the time ever comes, I'll let Craig tell me his stories on his own.

* * *

><p>Come Monday, Jason decides to call Craig out on his weekend performance. As soon as Craig enters the classroom he starts hollering. "That was some nice strip tease you gave us on Friday night, Tucker," he says tauntingly. Craig flips him off before taking his seat.<p>

"Enough talking," the teacher says with a grimace.


	3. The breakdown

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

><p>There's one more month of school and I've made <em>no<em> progress in befriending Craig. He's a stick in the mud and it's obvious he has zero interest in being my pal. Lucky for me, however, another chance arrives after school. I walk outside and when I'm about to hop on a bus I see a group of students. I swim through the crowd and see that Craig and Jason are fighting. I have no idea who is winning. Jason has the clear advantage due to his broad size, but he doesn't seem to be throwing any hits – just blocking. Craig looks like a fucking psycho. Expletives are falling out of his mouth and he's just screaming while Jason looks immensely humored. Christ, what a dick.

I decide to intervene. I come up behind Craig, sort of expecting him to punch me in the face but he doesn't. I steer him away and we board the bus. He doesn't protest. He's panting angrily, gritting his teeth.

"What was that all about?" I decide to ask once we're seated.

Craig leans his head against the window and murmurs, "Nothing."

That's the biggest, fattest lie I've ever heard, but I won't call him out on it. All I respond with is, "All righty then."

When everyone has boarded the bus, it begins to move. When we exit the school parking lot, Craig turns to me and, out of the blue, he asks, "Why are you trying so hard?"

"What do you mean?" I question, unsure what he's referring to.

"I push you away and you still come back," he says. "Why is that?"

"I want to know more about you," I admit to him.

Craig shrugs. "There's nothing to know. I'm a cliché. People are awful and I hate them so I distance myself from them and I come off seeming like a cold hearted asshole."

I smile sympathetically. I feel like, with this seemingly small confession, I've learned a lot. Clearly Craig doesn't like that people see him as mean. He acts like a dick to protect himself. Maybe he can't help it, but I can understand that. Human beings have the ability to be incredibly cruel.

* * *

><p>In the evening, I head over to Clyde's, letting myself in. In the basement, the back door is open as are the windows. It still smells like weed, though. I'm going to assume that they're trying to air the place out. Craig is sitting on the recliner in the far corner of the room. He has his hands in his pants. Bebe lets out a groan. "Don't grab your balls in front of me, <em>please<em>," she says wearily. She's sitting on the sofa with Tweek, who looks thoroughly uncomfortable and Clyde, who just looks tired.

He ignores her. She huffs and leaves the room and Clyde and Tweek follow her, leaving me alone with their volatile bomb of a friend. All I can do is stare at him. Maybe I _am_ a voyeur… then again, maybe it's just Craig. He's so fucking fine.

"Why do you do this kind of shit?" I ask.

"Because I'm a selfish brat who doesn't care what other people think or feel," he says, removing his hand from his pants. He's hard, but he ignores his erection in favor of talking. "Everything is about me, me, me."

I let out a breath. "That's… kind of shitty of you." But I have a feeling it's not true. He's mirroring himself, pretending to be the way other people see him.

"Come here," he says, dismissing my comment. "I'll suck your dick. That's what you want, right? That's why you're being so fucking annoying? That's why you won't leave me alone?"

I suppress the urge to snap at him. Not only is he diminishing his own self-worth, but he's making me look like an asshole. "No," I say. "That's not what I fuckin' want, Craig. Why would you even think that?"

"Because," he says simply, "That's what I'm here for. I'm the conquest. People want to do me just to say they have because I'm like the best attraction at the theme park. It comes with bragging rights, so everyone wants to take a ride. I don't mind it so much."

"C'mon," I try to reason with him. "Once false move and you're sleeping with the worms. Apart from being cruel, people can be dangerous, too."

He gives me a look of mild humor before shaking his head. "I don't _care_, McCormick," he says calmly. "Jason's junky retard of a father got drunk a couple years ago and tried to feel me up. Do you know what Jason did? He laughed. Do you know what I did? Nothing. Why? Because I don't fucking care. Sometimes I wonder what would have happen if Jason hadn't showed up. I probably would've let his dad take a turn. It would've pissed Jason off if I actually went through with it. But I doubt his dad could get it up anyway. Years of heroin will do that to you, I bet."

"Ew," I whisper. That's so fucking disgusting…

"Like father like son…" he snorts. "I first let Jason fuck me up the ass when I was sixteen… back when we were still friends. Not my proudest moment. I was the only virgin in our group of friends and I just wanted to get it over with. It happened a few more times, but then it ended. He always brought it up even though he knew it bothered me… How times have changed. I was such a fucking prude."

"How did it end?" I can't help but ask. I feel nosy. "Did you break it off?"

Craig smiles bitterly. "I found out he was taping me with a hidden camera… but I still didn't break it off. I couldn't find it in myself to even care. I just thought… _oh…_ and it wasn't really that surprising to me. I know all he saw when he looked at me was a nice pair of lips and a hole, but still… I never even tried to break things off. I just went with it."

"Then how…?" I trail off.

"Clyde found out," he reveals with a sigh. "He told Jason he wasn't allowed near me anymore and of course Jason immediately blamed me. He accused me of whining to Clyde about not being able to handle my own shit. Load of crap… I never said a fucking word. Clyde found out because Jason wasn't careful. So… I punched Jason and he punched me back twice as hard and, for a while, that was that."

I wrinkle my nose. "How did Clyde find out?"

Craig flushes. "Jason put them online," he confesses, rubbing a hand down his weary, shamed face. "Bebe likes, uh… gay and lesbian porn… She saw the videos on Pornhub's gay subsection. She told Clyde and Clyde told me."

"Y'know…" I mention, "you could've got him in serious trouble. You were only sixteen…"

He only shrugs. "Whatever… It's too late now. The evidence is gone. Bebe reported the videos, saying I was underage. They got deleted."

"That's good," I murmur.

"Jason might still have copies," he adds as an afterthought, "but I doubt he'll make the same mistake twice… Not that it matters. I don't really care."

I don't think that's true, but I don't try to disprove him. "I see…" I say slowly, pausing. "What about Red, then?"

"What about her?"

"What's your relationship with her?" I pry. He seems to be in a sharing mood and so sue me, I'm curious. I want to know all about the enigma that is Craig Tucker.

"We're friends," he says with a shrug before admitting, "We used to fool around back when I was sleeping with Jason. We never actually had sex we just… do other stuff. I did it because I wanted new experiences to write over what I was doing with Jason, I guess. I felt like I needed it and the fact that she wanted it made it okay in the end. So, after seeing Jason I'd go to her for comfort. She'd do things to me, I'd do things to her, and then I'd go home. I mean… I don't even like girls so I don't know why I went to her… but she felt a hell of a lot safer than any guy in my life. Maybe that's why. I guess when it comes to comfort I like girls." He shakes it off and changes the subject. "So, want me to suck your dick?"

"No!" I practically exclaim. "Why the hell are you like this?"

I can't help but wonder if Craig is worth all the trouble, but as soon as the question pops into my head I nearly scream YES. He's a human being in pain and that means something. Of course he deserves to live and he deserves to find some sort of peace.

"Like what?" he asks.

"A fuckin' ho," I say flatly.

He rolls his eyes at me, standing up. He shoves his hand in his pants again and nears the open door. "I'm going," he decides. "You can tell Bebe she can come back downstairs."

"Where are you going?" I pry.

"Somewhere I'm welcome," he mutters before leaving.

* * *

><p>Graduation comes and goes. Craig doesn't attend the ceremony. Big surprise there. Kyle was elected valedictorian. He gave a speech and then we all walked across the stage. He won a scholarship. So did Wendy and Token. The rest of us are too stupid for that.<p>

High school is over forever and everyone has been celebrating. In fact, some people have been celebrating a little _too_ hard. That's saying a lot coming from me.

There's an abandoned church near the outskirts of town and kids have been using it to throw raves lately. This isn't my first time here and every single damn time I regret it. But I promised Bebe I'd check on Craig, so here I am. It smells like patchouli and armpit – hardly a quaint combination and neither quite overwrites the other.

On the first floor, Token plays bartender to the rest of us drunken teenagers. It's so loud you have to scream to be heard. My ears are ringing as crappy dubstep blasts from the speakers. Token makes me a drink and I make my way down the stairs. It's quieter, but it's still loud. What greets me is a particularly flagrant display of teenage hormones. I hate parties like this. They're basically just orgies with liquor full of kids making drunken mistakes they'll come to regret when they're either sober or older. What I see makes me nauseous.

The first familiar face I spot is Kal's. All she is wearing are her undergarments she tongues Jessie, who is in a similar state of undress. Meanwhile, Craig is the star of the damn show. He's riding Jason's dick on the old sofa in the corner of the room. The picture is all wrong. He doesn't have a stitch on, unlike Jason who is fully dressed apart from his unzipped jeans. There are a few guys I've never seen before watching them, yelling dirty words the entire time. I thought he hated Jason. I guess he really does have no shame. Music is blaring as other kids dance and grind nearby. Red is dancing closely with Annie and Lola. Almost in a daze, Red nears the occupied sofa, putting a hand on Craig's shoulder. He stares up at her and smiles mirthlessly as he continues to impale himself on Jason. They appear to exchange a few words and then he stops. She bends down, giving him a few open-mouthed kisses. He brings a hand up, putting it around her neck and pulling her closer. They start tonguing and Jason looks like he's getting impatient. He slaps Craig's thigh and the two break apart. Red kisses the top of Craig's head before wandering off and Craig starts grinding his hips again. I don't want to stare, but I can't fucking help it. He looks like a professional. He's riding that dick like an expert.

As Red starts to leave the room, I grab her by the arm. "Why are you leaving him like that?" I croak. "Shouldn't you… make him stop? He's going to hate himself ten times more than he already does tomorrow…"

She lets out a sigh. "It's always like this with Craig. The only way he'll let you be near him is if you let him do what he wants. If you show him that you care he'll tell you to fuck off. So… we all pretend none of it bothers us when in reality it just makes us all want to die."

I let go of her and softly say, "Oh…" She gives me a forced smile in response before going back upstairs. I don't speak another word to her. I just let her go.

For some reason, it's bothering me. It's bothering me quite a lot. It seriously makes me want to cry. Craig's hot, but he's fucking psychotic and all of this is definitely not making me want to stay sober. I down the rest of my drink before wandering out of the room to get another. I ask Token to make it stiff. He complies and when I take a sip I can't help but cringe. Nonetheless, I down it. I didn't eat or drink much today, so I cut myself off after two drinks because I'm already feeling it.

"Do you know what Craig is doing down there?" I ask him.

Token shakes his head, frowning as though he's unsure if he even _wants_ to know. "What's he up to now?"

"He's letting Jason do him in front of _everyone_," I say.

Token grimaces, sucking air between his teeth before saying, "That… is not good."

I just shake my head before wandering off. Back downstairs, Jason and Craig have switched positions. Craig is now conversing with Kal and Jessie as Jason rams him from behind. He lurches forward with each thrust. I cut my losses and make my way towards them. As I get closer, Craig's moans get louder. "Ah, ah, aaah…!" Looks like Craig's a noise-maker in the sack. He sounds fucking delirious and looks even more so – like he has no idea what the fuck is going on and no one seems to want to help him figure it out.

"Isn't he cuuute?" Kal coos.

"He is _so_ cute," Jessie agrees in a simper.

As I've said, Jason is a dealer. He probably promised Craig he'd give him some shit in exchange for humiliating himself like this. Or maybe he already gave him some shit.

"McCormick, you look like you want something," Jason accuses, giving me a warning look.

Yeah, I want something. I want Craig to have more self-worth. I want Jason to fucking die. But I don't say that. I just offer him a tight smile and simper, "Just enjoying the show." Even though I'm not. I'm so uncomfortable right now. Underneath it all, Craig is fucking miserable. I've seen some really fucked up shit in my eighteen years but Craig is probably the most disturbing.

Jason bends down and whispers something to Craig that I don't catch. A second later, he waves Bill over.

Oh, Christ, no…

I stay and watch until Bill's dick is in Craig's mouth and I can't bare it any longer. I go outside and smoke a few cigarettes, playing with my cell phone. My heart feels like it's stuck in my throat. I honestly feel like puking.

Craig is the kind of person who belongs to everyone – literally. He doesn't care about a damn thing. I used to say that about him lightly, but now I say it with intense meaning. He really doesn't care. I've never met someone like that. I've never met someone who sincerely hates themselves that much. I don't understand it. I don't understand how he can spread his ass and get penetrated in front of a group of people and know they're judging him, thinking awful things. He's not doing it for some erotic thrill. That, I could understand… but no. He's doing this out of pure hatred and maybe a little desperation to go with it. It's so fucking sad. It's so sad I can hardly bare to think about it.

Everyone deserves something good. Everyone deserves respect – even those who don't demand it. People don't respect Craig and that much is clear. People use him and just like Bebe says – he always lets them.

Back inside, I go to take a piss and when I enter the bathroom – speak of the devil – Craig is standing in front of the sink staring at himself. He's still in the buff, unsurprisingly. "Enjoy the show?" he asks me, eying my reflection in the mirror. The words come out in a high slur, confirming my suspicion that he's far from sober.

"Why do you do shit like that?" I ask in return. I can't even bring my voice to sound strong. The question comes out in a pathetic croak.

"So pervs like you can get off on it," he retorts, not missing a beat.

"Why did you sleep with him?" I continue to pry. "You told me you hate him, so why the hell would you let him touch you?"

"Because I was horny and I just felt like it," he says simply.

"You belong to everyone, don't you?" I murmur. "The communal sex toy."

"No," he insists. "I'm my own person."

"I bet Jason sees things differently," I point out. "He probably sees you as a very convenient fuck. I'm pretty pro-sex… but this is different. Sex should be fun. What you're doing isn't fun. It's just wrong."

He turns around and smiles cynically. "You're jealous." He's still holding the counter, steadying himself.

I contemplate denying it, but I don't. "I don't know whether to say _fuck you_ or _fuck me_," I admit.

"Come on, then," he challenges.

I can see Jason and whoever else's spooge all over him and it's making me want to puke. "No," I say tartly. "You're all used up." I'm so jealous I can't even filter myself. Word vomit – the angry kind.

"Hm," Craig murmurs. He's not smiling anymore.

"Plus," I add, "I don't sleep with people who aren't sober. I'm not that kind of guy."

"Oh, wow!" he croons. "It's _Saint_ McCormick!"

"You're so fucking cold," I say tersely. "I'm surprised all your friends haven't died of frostbite."

He doesn't respond. He turns around and continues staring at himself. I wonder if he's dissociated. He doesn't look like he's going anywhere, so I decide to try and find his clothing. I leave the bathroom and find his things discarded in a pile near the sofa he got fucked on. I pick them up and return to the bathroom. Just as I suspected, Craig hasn't budged an inch.

"Here," I mutter, trying to hand him his things. "Get dressed."

"Why?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Tsk," I click my tongue, getting impatient. "Just do it or I'll kick your ass."

He slowly unfolds his arms, eying me as he takes his things. He doesn't bother cleaning himself off. He just puts on his shorts and jeans and pulls on his t-shirt before slipping into his sneakers. I feel like I can finally look at him again. "Happy?" he snaps.

"Very," I say, though it's not quite the case.

"_God_," he laughs with blatant anger. "I hate people like you."

"You're gonna die, you know," I tell him. "I mean it. If you keep acting like this, you'll end up dead in one of South Park's many crevices. Is that what you want?"

"I don't care," he says airily. "I don't care about anything."

He's going to die soon. And maybe it's what he wants right now – to die. Usually when people say they don't care they're lying to a degree… but when Craig says it, I believe him. He really doesn't give a shit about anything. It's summer and he's still paying me very little mind. I'm running out of ideas. I should probably just kick the crap out of him and be done with it. Maybe slapping some sense into him will work. Ha. Probably not. He won't learn until it's too late.

"I don't doubt that," I tell him.

He gives me a disgustingly sweet smile and all I can do is wish it was genuine because he looks really cute with dimples. He leaves after that, shoving his hands in his pocket and pulling out a house key and little, plastic baggy of something white and powdery. Cocaine.

Naturally, I follow him. Like hell I'm going to leave him alone right now.

"Nice show, Tucker," a stranger teases in the hallway.

"Suck my ass," Craig responds distantly, not bothering to even glance at the guy. When we're outside, he opens the bag and digs the key inside, collecting powder onto the head of it. A split second later he raises it to his nostril and snorts it. "Ugh…" he groans, wrinkling his nose before wiping the white residue away. He puts the key away along with the drugs and he sniffs loudly before letting out a bunch of hawking sounds. He spits a wad of mucous onto the ground and wipes his mouth.

"Fucking gross," I mutter and he laughs bitterly in response.

He begins walking along the dirt road. His movements are groggy, like he's too exhausted and intoxicated to walk straight. "Go away," he murmurs.

"No," I respond, eying the back of his head.

He turns around and shoves me. "Yes," he spits.

"No," I say again, shoving him back.

"Yes!" he shouts this time. "Fuck off, McCormick! I don't need you following me around all the damn time, you fucking asshole bitch –!"

I backhand him across the face before he gets another word out. He emits a sound of shock as his head swings to the side. He stumbles, but he doesn't fall. So, I do it again, but this time I use my fist. I grab a handful of his t-shirt and punch him in the face again before letting go and shoving him into the dirt. He tries to stand, but I shove him again.

"Stop it, you asshole…!" he screams, voice breaking.

"So, what?" I ask spitefully. "You don't care, right? You hurt yourself all the time. How is this any different?"

I've never beat someone up before. Sure, I've been in fights, but I've never had it out with someone who didn't hit me back. I expect him to, but he doesn't. I sit on his abdomen and stare down at him. He tries to push me off, but to no avail. He just keeps squirming around beneath me. I smack him in the face, trying to get him to stop being so fucking frantic. It doesn't even register. I get off of him, grabbing him by his biceps and trying to force him to stand. No luck. He sinks back onto the ground a split second later, kneeling in the dirt and staring down.

And it's quiet. Eerily so. He takes a deep, slow breathe and just when I think he's about to start screaming at me, he does something else. He lets out a long keening sound and starts to cry. He raises a shaky hand, covering his face and weeping into his palm. I guess this is a sort of pain he isn't fond of.

For a few minutes, I just stare down at him and watch him break apart. As sick as it sounds, I'm taking pleasure in it.

"I hate it!" he sobs openly. "I hate it! I'm in so much pain! I wish I could stop feeling this way, but I _can't_!"

I guess this is what it took. A little abuse. A little violence. A few nasty words. Then, just like that, Craig opens up. "Yeah, you can," I say. I kneel down in front of him, but he won't look at me. The words are probably lost to him anyway. I guess it doesn't matter. Even if he heard them he wouldn't believe them.

"_God_," he chokes out between a fresh string of sobs. "I want to fucking die!"

"Don't say shit like that…" I let out a sigh and reach forward, pulling him towards me. He doesn't even protest. He just lies limp against me.


	4. The parents

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

**I watched this week's episode drunk and it fucked me up so hard. But I loved it hahaha. I like when they use real actors to portray the kiddies. **

* * *

><p>And with that, everything changes. I don't know why. I think it's sad but it's like Craig needed me to hurt him. He hasn't pushed me away since he broke down. In fact, it's quite the opposite. He's been almost… clingy? Not that I mind.<p>

After all that's happened I still want to fuck him. No… I don't want to _fuck_ him. I want to make him feel good. I want to please him in the sheets. Make love and all that gay shit.

But instead, we're here at a party. It's loud. The sounds of laughter are ringing in my ears. All these happy sounds…

Craig looks amiss amongst the crowd of smiling people. He looks exhausted as ever as he stands by Jason's side. I decide to approach them. I won't let Jason continue to screw with him.

"Hey," I cut in. "What's going on?"

"Jason owes me something from a little while ago," Craig says angrily. "He won't pay up."

"Drugs?" I assume with a sigh.

Craig sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He probably has the worst case of nasal drips. Jason throws an arm around him and says, "I gave you your drugs, Craig. It's not my fault they're already gone. Pace yourself, junky."

"I fucking ruined myself for you," Craig says shakily.

Jason chuckles. "Yeah, that was funny. You were fucked out of your mind."

"That wasn't funny, Jason!" Craig screams, voice cracking. "It's… It's rape! You're _ruining_ me!"

And just like that the room falls silent. No more laughing. No more talking. No more singing along to the upbeat dance music. Everyone just stands still and stares at the volatile mess that is Craig Tucker.

"You liked it," Jason says in a low growl. "Everyone that saw you can back me up. You fucking _liked_ it. The fact that you weren't sober doesn't change that."

Craig doesn't hover. With that, he is gone. As is my right and duty, I follow him.

"You're not ruined," I tell him quietly. "Jason is a piece of shit for doing what he did and everyone who saw it and didn't do anything is just as shitty. Me, included. I'm really fucking sorry, Craig."

He doesn't respond to that. "Hey…" he murmurs. When I think he's about to tell me to leave him alone, he says the opposite. "Can I stay at your place tonight?"

I offer him a smile and tell him, "Of course."

The walk is silent apart from the music that can still be heard as we make our way down the road. We stroll past Craig's house without a word. I can't help but wonder what his parents are like. He doesn't talk about them much. I wonder if they care about him… if they care that he wants to die… if they care that he's out of control and only getting worse.

It doesn't take us much longer to get to my place. I swing open the door and announce, "I'm home!" only to be greeted with complete silence. I let out a snort and say, "Naturally…"

"Are your parents gone a lot?" Craig asks me.

"Yeah," I admit. "So are Kevin and Karen. I think Karen hates being here and Kevin bounces around a lot." A pause. "What are your parents like?"

He shrugs. "Thomas is fine… so is Laura."

"Why do you call your parents by their first names?" I wonder. I've heard him do it a few times. "If I did that my parents would skin me and tell me not to be so damn disrespectful."

"I'm adopted," Craig states flatly. "Ever since I found out, it's been weird calling them Mom and Dad."

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"I'm _adopted_, idiot," he reiterates. "They aren't my real parents. My real parents fucked off and left me when I was two. I thought everyone knew… A blond and a fuckin' ginger can't have a black haired kid. Y'know what the most fucked up part is? They never told me. I learned about it in science class a few years ago when we were learning about genetics and shit. I went home and I confronted them and they admitted it."

"Shit," I deadpan. "Does it bother you?"

He looks thoughtful for a minute before shaking his head. "I don't really care. I used to, but know I can't be fucked."

"I see," I murmur, but I have a feeling he's lying.

We go upstairs and move into my room. It's nothing special, but it's my sanctuary. I head straight to my closet and try and find Craig something to wear. I pull out a clean t-shirt and a clean pair of sweatpants. I'm an inch taller than him, but these will fit him just fine. When I turn around, he's standing in the center of the room, looking like he's surveying the area.

"Here," I say, handing him the change of clothes.

He murmurs a quiet, "Thanks," and then reaches for the button on his jeans.

I turn away again and grab myself some pajamas, briskly changing into them. When I'm done, Craig is dressed. He has his arms wrapped around himself in what looks like an unconscious gesture. "You okay?" I ask him.

He nods. "Fine…" A pause. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I want to," I say simply. "You deserve a friend who isn't going to sit back and watch you fuck yourself over."

He lets out a cut laugh before murmuring the name, "Jason…"

"He's a terrible person," I say surely and Craig doesn't deny it. He nods his head lazily. I kill the lights and instead turn on the dim lamp that sits next to my mattress on the floor. After stretching out my limbs, I sit down. "Gonna join me?" I offer.

He approaches slowly and cautiously, as if he's gaging my movements. He sits on my lap and stares at me with a blank look. I want to reach forward and hug him, but I won't. I need him to make the first move. I don't want to force anything onto him. I guess that's a stupid thing to say after I beat him up… "Hey," I start quietly. "How are you comfortable being so close to someone who kicked the shit out of you?"

"Shut up," he whispers. I guess it's something he doesn't want to think about, but perhaps, for Craig, it's always been like this. He accepts abuse.

"You got a hard on for trash or something?" I ask.

"Probably," he admits softly. He hooks his feet around my waist and his arms around my neck, pressing his face into my shoulder. I rub my hands up and down his back. For a few minutes we sit like this in complete silence and it feels nice. It feels nice to be touching him like this. I feel like I can keep him safe if he's nearby. "Kenny…?" he says my first name in a slow, questioning tone.

"What's up?" I ask, still rubbing his back.

"Let's have sex," he suggests nonchalantly and I feel my dick start to harden in my pants at the mere suggestion of it.

"Craig…" I start, but he cuts me off.

"You want to… I want to…" he murmurs. He lifts his head and stares at me with another unreadable expression before moving forward and touching his mouth to mine. His lips part and our tongues clash. When we separate, he lets go of me and removes his t-shirt. "It's fine if we do this," he decides, leaning backwards and lying on the mattress. I hover over him. I don't ask him if he's sure of any of that shit. I know he'd only berate me for it. So instead, I reach for the hem of the pants he just put on, pulling them down along with his shorts. I touch the smooth pale skin on his stomach and thighs. He feels warm beneath my fingers.

He really does have a beautiful body. I feel like I can appreciate it more now since he's not on display. It's just us here. I'm slow and careful, but he won't look at me. I don't know why.

"Craig," I whisper his name when my dick is halfway in. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he says hoarsely, staring off into empty space before closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>The following day, Craig is gone before I even wake up. No note, no text. I let it slide this time. I'll go find him later on. Instead, I go to Kyle's and get to do a little research for me. He's good at this kind of shit – hacking and whatnot. I sit in his room and wait while he clicks away on his laptop and soon enough he says, "Here we are."<p>

"You found Craig's birth parents?" I ask, surprised at how little time it took him.

"Yeah," he responds. "The adoption agency only has their names and last known address… but it's in Denver." He pauses and opens his desk drawer, grabbing paper and a pencil. He writes down the address and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I murmur, pocketing it. I lean closer to the screen, squinting. "What the hell kind of names are they…?"

"Armenian," Kyle informs me. "Perhaps they were immigrants."

"Hm," I muse. "Craig doesn't seem to know anything about them. He might just want to go on pretending they don't exist… but I'm still going to bring it up."

Kyle simply nods, closing his laptop. "You like Craig, huh?" he asks.

I can't help but smile – though with bitter sentiment. "Yeah," I admit. "I really do…"

"He's a really messed up guy," Kyle adds. "I mean… I know most people are a little messed up. Even I'm a little messed up… but Craig… He's like…" he trails off. "There are a lot of fucked up rumors going around about him. People are saying Jason drugged and raped him in front of a bunch of people and no one did anything."

I can't help but cringe at that. "I know," I say with a sigh. "I was there."

Kyle grimaces at that. "That's seriously fucked up... He should get Jason arrested."

"He'd never go for it," I mumble, wishing he would.

"Well," Kyle murmurs, "Good luck."

I nod my head and decide to change the subject. "Speaking of romance… Eric is into you. He has been for a long fucking time."

Kyle doesn't look surprised. After a brief pause, he says, "I know… I mean… I always had a feeling. He's easier to be around these days. I mean… we spend a lot more time together now. Stan is always busy with Wendy, which is fine, I suppose. He's happy. Eric was there for me when Stan decided to grow absent. He didn't give me enough time to feel lonely. If I wanted to, I could lean forward and kiss him and then he'd know how I feel. He'll never get the words out. I feel bad for keeping him on a string, but I'm not yet sure what I want."

"It's fine to take your time," I tell him. "It's not like Eric is going to be confessing anytime soon. He's kind of awkward about that kind of shit. That's why he's such an asshole."

Kyle chuckles. "Yeah, that much has stayed the same."

* * *

><p>After visiting Kyle, I go to the Tucker residence. Thomas opens the door and greets me with a, "Hello."<p>

"Hello," I return, smile in place. "Is Craig in?"

"In his bedroom," Thomas says, allowing me inside. I take off my shoes and he walks me upstairs, adding, "He might be asleep."

"This time of day?" I ask.

Thomas gives me an unreadable look and says, "He sleeps a lot."

Oh," I respond softly.

He opens his son's bedroom door and it's dark. Inside, Craig is just a lump in the middle of his bed. "Craig," Thomas says his name.

"Go," Craig moans, burrowing deeper beneath his blankets.

"You have a guest," his father tells him.

Craig lets out a loud sigh and sits up. "Oh…" he says when he spots me.

"Hey," I hold up a hand. "Sorry to just drop by like this."

"It's fine," he says. He doesn't look upset to see me, so I'll take it as a good sign.

I thank Thomas before walking into Craig's room. When I hear the door shut, I climb into bed with him. "Are you depressed?" I ask tactlessly.

He gives me a perturbed look. "No…? Why?"

"Sorry," I say, leaning against one of his pillows. "Your father said you slept a lot, so I just wondered… Plus, Clyde mentioned you take pills."

"Sometimes," he corrects.

"Y'know, some illnesses just get worse without medication," I remind him.

He makes a face at me. "This is none of your damn business."

"So, what do you take?" I pry, making it my business.

"A mood stabilizer," he mutters, lying back down.

"Ah," I whisper, lying down with him. That's some serious shit.

"I take it sporadically," he admits. "I'm not supposed to because it fucks me up, but I like cocaine more. If you take cocaine while on lithium, it doesn't feel as good."

"I see…" I murmur grimly.

"You probably think I'm really stupid, hm?" he asks, shifting closer until our noses are nearly touching.

"No," I promise, putting a hand on his waist and letting it slip beneath his shirt. "I guess I just don't understand… but I want to. I like it when you talk to me."

"I still think it's strange," he admits vaguely. "You took an interest in me seemingly out of nowhere. Why is that?"

"I like you. I've always wanted to get to know you." It's a vague sentiment.

"Why now, though?" he pries further. "I don't mean to sound insecure… but I want to know if this is real or if it's just another game."

"It's not," I swear.

"People like to play with me," he says offhandedly. "I guess I make it easy."

I lean forward and peck him on the lips. "Don't think about things like that," I tell him softly. "I'm not playing with you and this is definitely not a game. Truth is, I had a dream about you. That's why I approached you."

"A dream?" he asks. "Like, what? A dirty dream?"

Of course his mind would go there. "No," I say with a short laugh. "It was… a sad dream, actually. I watched you die."

"How did I die?" he asks.

"You took a hammer to the head," I admit to him. Christ, this conversation is getting macabre. I want to change the subject, but I know Craig wouldn't let me.

He's quiet for a moment until wondering, "Are you worried it'll happen?"

"Yeah," I admit. "Would you believe me if I told you my dreams came true before?"

"Maybe," he says, "and if I didn't, I'd still humor you."

I can't help but smile at that. "Fair enough," I decide.

"So, tell me about it," he requests.

And I do. I tell him from start to finish every gory detail of that dream. I tell him about the creepy, old hick. I tell him about Skeeter leaving them alone. I tell him about the sex and then what came next. I tell him about his gruesome death. I tell him how he got found. I tell him about his parents falling apart. The entire time, Craig looks thoughtful. "So, yeah…" I finish.

"Oh, wow," he says airily. "So, that's my future."

"Yeah," I whisper, hoping this will change things and hoping he actually believes me.

It's like he shattered a mirror but instead of seven years of bad fortune he got an eternity.

* * *

><p>I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. It's noon, much to my dismay.<p>

I grab my phone and stare at the caller ID. "Craig?" I answer.

"They're fighting again," comes Craig's familiar voice and hell, it's relieving to hear. "They're so fucking loud and I really need to smoke but I don't want to light up while they're screaming at one another. Thomas would throw a fit if he smelled anything and then they'd both gang up on me."

Fuck, I wish my parents fought like that. It'd be a welcome relief for a kid like me, who is too used to physical violence. But Craig isn't used to it, so for him this is really bad and I guess I should be sensitive. "Want me to come over?" I offer.

"No," he says.

"Do you want to come over?"

"No," he says again.

"What do you want, then?" I ask. "If I'm able to, I'll give it to you."

"Just, like… talk," he requests. "You're good at that."

"All right," I say softly. I think for a minute, trying to figure out what it is I'm supposed to be talking about. Fuck it. "Craig," I say his name. "What does this make us?"

"I don't know," he whispers.

I change the subject after that, talking lightly about some weird porn I saw recently.

* * *

><p>Tomorrow night, I'm at Craig's. He lets me in and I wait in the lobby as he grabs a sweater from upstairs.<p>

I can hear voices coming from the living room, so I decide to poke my head in. First face I see is Skeeter's. The award for the world's worst uncle goes to him. I still can't forget how he sat around and watched his brother's son get groped by some ugly redneck. If Thomas knew, I can't help but wonder what he would do.

Nonetheless, as I wait for Craig I decide to move into the room and greet everyone. "Hi," I say as I'm greeted by a sporadic murmur of hellos. I nearly choke on my own spit when I see Craig's potential murderer sitting in the corner of the room with a beer can in his hand.

Fortunately, Craig arrives before I can open my big mouth and say something stupid. He puts a hand on my shoulder and nods for me to follow him out. We slip on our shoes and leave through the front door.

Once we're gone, I decide to ask questions. "Who was the man in there with the moustache?" I whisper weakly.

"Carl Denkins…?" Craig asks. "He owns a farm on the outskirts of town."

"Avoid him," I say pleadingly. "If you don't, he'll kill you."

Craig looks taken aback. "He… _What_?"

"He'll _kill_ you," I say sternly. "He'll kill you and he'll dump your body. Please, Craig. Trust me. You don't want to experience what he has in store for you."

He scoffs lightly before letting out a chuckle. "Right… okay. Is this about your dream or whatever?"

"Yes," I say in a firm tone and it makes me realize he probably didn't believe me. I put an arm around him and keep him close, feeling wary. There's no way in hell I'll be leaving him alone any time soon. It's quiet again and I can hear Craig sniffling. "What's wrong?" I immediately ask.

"I'm not _crying_," he says pointedly. "I have drips."

"Oh," I mutter. From all the cocaine. "Y'know…" I murmur, "You should –"

"Stop," he interrupts airily, cutting me of. "I should stop, right? I should stop because you care and this is hard on you because it's hard on me. I deserve better, right? I'm so fucking sick of hearing people say that… I can't _stand_ it. They have no fucking idea…"

"You're not a bad person, Craig," I tell him sincerely.

He lets out a cut laugh. "Yeah, I am," he says, shaking me off and turning away. "I mean… I must be. I was abandoned."

"You were a fucking baby…" I reason softly. He has his back turned to me, but I can see his shoulders shaking.

He lets out another bitter laugh. "Well, maybe my parents had dreams like yours. Maybe they could tell my future too and they didn't like what they saw so they got out while they still could."

"No," I tell him surely. "That's not what happened." He sniffs again and I offer, "I can take you to a hospital."

"Oh, yes, please," he says cynically. "Take me where I can be unconscious and naked."

I don't push. Instead, I just relent. I throw my arm around him again and we continue walking. Hell, I'm really falling for him. How unconventional.

"Let me take you out," I request.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe," he murmurs. "I'll think about it."

* * *

><p>We end up walking to my house. There isn't much to do, so we go to my room and settle on my mattress. I bring my hands up and stretch, causing him to flinch away. I give him a strange look and he immediately apologizes. "Dude, I wasn't gonna hit you…" I say.<p>

"Sorry," he apologizes again.

I wave dismissively, telling him it's fine. "So, want to watch a movie?"

"No," he murmurs.

"Want to… uh…" I pause. "Take a nap?" I let out a short laugh. "Sorry, there's not much to do here."

"I'm going to the bathroom," he decides, standing up.

"Want me to come?" I ask.

He gives me a dull look. "No. I think I can manage to pee on my own."

I lean against my pillow and watch him leave the room. I wish I could make him smile… or laugh… But all I seem to do is bore him.

He returns a few minutes later and stares at me, arms crossed as he leans in the doorway. He does this for many long moments and it makes me feel like I'm being judged until, out of the blue, he asks, "Why do you like me?"

"Come here and I'll tell you," I say, holding out my arms.

He flicks the lights off and approaches me slowly, sitting on my lap and leaning into me just like last time. I hold him close and I can't help but feel like we fit together perfectly. "No one's ever liked me like this before," he confesses. "I don't know whether I should believe that you're being sincere or if I should maybe doubt you."

I run my hands up his back and through his hair. Everything he's saying makes me want to sigh, but I don't. "I genuinely like you," I tell him. "I mean… yeah, I've always thought you were a really attractive guy. They were thoughts from afar though. I never really got to know you… but now I have and I'm glad. You look sweet when you smile. I want to make you smile. I want to make you laugh… and be happy. You deserve to be happy."

"Do I…?" he wonders quietly.

"You're a good person," I promise. "You're just a little lost right now. It's fine. Life is… a pretty tiresome journey. It's okay to get a little lost sometimes. You'll find your way. I mean, that's what life is all about when you think about it." And I guess it's fucking sad that sometimes there are people who never find their way. They give up. I don't want Craig's life to end on such a bitter note.

He makes a soft, noncommittal sound before slumping against me. I lie down, bringing him with me. He sniffles again and I find myself wondering if he is high right now. Maybe that's what his bathroom break was for. Nonetheless, I can't bring myself to ask. I just want to believe he's sober and we're sharing this moment together and everything is fine. So, we just lie here together and soon he falls asleep. I watch him drool in my arms, smiling slightly because everything he does is cute as hell.


	5. The arrest

** South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

><p>The days continue to pass by. Craig's been the same – smoking, drinking and in need of constant reassurance. I don't mind giving it to him, but at the same time I'm not really sure if it's healthy. Well, fuck it. None of this is really healthy. It's a sensitive situation and Craig is a sensitive guy. Funny, in a sad way. It's something I never would have suspected.<p>

I spend the day with him and we don't do anything particularly consequential. We laze around town, get some food and then Craig tells me he has something to do. I tell him I'll come with. He insists it's fine, but I don't relent. Instead, he does and we make our way to the pond.

I don't think much of it until I see Jason standing with crossed arms and a smug look on his face. "Tucker, here," he says, sliding him a small, white baggy of packed powder. "You know what to do."

Craig disappears a moment later, leaving me with an eyebrow raised. "Aren't you going to make him pay you?"

"Craig doesn't have money," Jason says pointedly.

"So, what?" I snort. "You're giving him free drugs out of the _goodness_ of your heart?"

"Tucker finds other ways to pay me," Jason says simply, smirking as my expression turns sour. "What do you think he's doing now?" He lets out a chuckle and I feel my eyes widen.

I try to make a run for it, but Jason grabs me by the throat. "You're pimping him out?" I murmur the question. I dig my nails into his hands, but he doesn't let go. "Is that it? You give him his drugs, he sucks some guy's dick and the guy pays you?"

He doesn't respond to that. "You've been spending a lot of time with Tucker lately, huh?" he asks offhandedly, still not loosening his grip. "You might think he's yours… but he doesn't roll like that. He never has. All I have to do is wave a bag of this shit under his nose and he'll be on his knees ready to suck whoever's dick I tell him to. He'll never belong to just one person. You know that, right? I'm saying this for your own good, bro. Get out while you still can."

"And leave him alone with you?" I scoff. "Like hell. You're a fucking predator, Jason."

"No," he denies it, "but I do like having this control over him. It's satisfying. He used to _love_ making me look like a jackass when we were kids. Now it's my turn."

"You're a bad guy," I murmur.

His eyes narrow at me, but he doesn't respond. We stare at one another for I don't know how long, but soon enough Craig is back. Jason finally lets me go and Craig asks, "What the fuck are you guys doing?" His voice sounds strange to my ears. I don't know if he's high or just emotional. I give Jason a look of disgust before roughly grabbing Craig by the arm and dragging him away. "Stop it, asshole!" he demands.

Once we're back into the main road, I can feel myself start to lose it. Here come the water works. I can feel a lump rising in my throat, far too large to swallow. "Why are you like _this_?" I ask yet again, throwing my hands up and causing him to jump away from the sudden movement. I don't bother calling him out on it. "Do you honestly hate yourself this much? It's… It's not _natural_!" My voice comes out shaky and weak and he remains silent. He stares off into space and away from me, like he can't bear to meet my gaze. "Craig," I say his name. "Why did you look so god damn miserable when we had sex?"

"I can't separate it," he confesses quietly, still refusing to look at me. "I can't separate the things I do with you and the things I do with everyone else. I _want_ to… and I want to enjoy it… but I can't."

"Look at me!" I shout, grabbing his face. I know I'm about to bawl. I can feel it. I swallow audibly, throat tightening. His eyes are dull. He looks like he doesn't give a damn. "Craig," I plead wetly, resting my forehead against his. "Please, Craig… just stop…" I pull him closer and he stands limp. "Please…" I start to sob. "Please stop… Please…" I sink to my knees, pressing my face into his abdomen and curling my fingers into the material of his shirt. Still, he doesn't speak. It's silent apart from my wailing. Maybe I have no right to ask him to change the way he lives, but I'm so fucking desperate. I'm getting sick of it. It makes me want to fucking die. I now understand what Red meant when she said those exact words. Maybe it means I love him. I fell hard and fast and as selfish as it sounds, just looking at him is hurting me. I guess it really does make me selfish. This isn't about me, is it?

Craig lets out a breath, grabbing my hands and forcing me to let go of him. He takes a step away and simply stares at me, like he doesn't know what to make of my ugly display of emotions. I sit on the ground and lurch forward, staring at the ground and weeping pathetically. After a moment's pause, Craig sits in front of me and tentatively brings his arms up, wrapping them around me... but he still doesn't say a damn word. I don't know how long I'm sitting here crying on him, but eventually my sobs turn to pathetic moans.

Even after I grow quiet, we stay here. Cars pass, but none pull over. Soon, I move away from him. I bring the hem of my t-shirt up and wipe my eyes.

Craig stands up, offering me a hand and pulling me to my feet. Without a word, we continue down the road. I walk him home and we part without goodbyes.

God help him, because I sure can't. I'm not a religious guy, but I'm not sure what else to do here.

* * *

><p>The days continue to pass by. I haven't seen Craig, but I've been staying out late and loitering near the bar in a weak attempt to stop my <em>nightmare<em> from coming true.

Around eight, I'm walking home from the café when I spot Craig on the opposite side of the road. When he sees me, he crosses. I spare him a glance and continue walking. He follows me and says, "Hey…"

"Hm," I mumble in return. He looks like tired. He looks like he hasn't showered in a couple days and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

"You're mad," he accuses.

"Yeah," I admit. "I don't want to sound like an asshole, but you're a difficult person to be around…"

"I know," he admits softly. "That's what everyone says. That's why they all let me do what I want… because if they don't, I act like a brat. You're different, though. You don't let me do what I want… or, well, at least you try not to."

"Yeah," is all I respond with. We walk silently and blindly, but soon enough we're in front of his house. I invite myself in. I can hear his parents conversing in the kitchen, but Craig doesn't bother greeting him. Instead, we go upstairs. "You should wash up," I tell him. He mumbles and shrugs, but turns into the bathroom anyway. I follow him and we stare at one another for a few minutes. "Strip and shower," I demand.

He swallows harshly before asking, "Can you leave the room?"

"No," I refuse.

"Then can you at least turn around?" he tries.

"No," I refuse again, perching myself up and taking a seat on the counter. He looks uncomfortable and I have a feeling why. "Dammit, Craig," I murmur impatiently. "Why don't we cut to the chase? Just show me what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything," he insists flatly.

"Then why won't you take your damn clothes off?" I ask.

"Because I don't _want_ to!" he snaps. "Christ, why is it so hard for you to grasp that sometimes people don't want to be seen naked!"

"You, of all people?" I snort before saying, "Even if that were true, this is different." I'm being an asshole again. God, he drives me crazy.

"It's not…" he insists. His voice is weak. He's lying. I know he's fucking lying to me. I hop off the counter and approach him where he's hovering. Without a word I begin feeling for drugs. "Stop it," he says indignantly, shoving me. "What the _fuck's_ wrong with you?" I don't stop. I grab the rim of his sweatshirt and shake it, sticking my hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Stop!" he repeats frantically. There's something desperate about his tone. Still, I don't stop. I unbutton his jeans and he starts struggling. "Stop!" he pleads again, grabbing my wrists.

"No!" I hiss at him, escaping his hold easily.

"Stop it, Kenny!" He tries to break away from me, but he ends up falling backwards and taking me with him. I land right on top of him, probably knocking the wind out of him in the process. He chokes and coughs. I'm quick to sit up and he rolls onto his stomach, refusing to see me eye-to-eye.

"Craig," I say his name.

"No," he whispers shakily.

Something is very fucking wrong here. "God! What the fuck is with you?" I ask in disbelief. He doesn't answer, instead he tries to claw his way out from under me. I grab his shoulders and roll him over, _forcing_ him to look at me. "Where is it?" I demand.

"I don't have anything!" he snaps. He's flushed and his eyes are glazed over. I don't know whether or not to believe him. I want to, but I know better. He's still not looking at me; he's looking right past me.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't have anything on you," I say. "If you do, I'll leave you alone."

Silence.

"That's what I thought," I murmur. I move my hands beneath his shirt again, grabbing at the material. "Where is it?" I demand again. I probably sound like a fucking psycho, but I'm desperate.

Craig grits his teeth and gives me a hard shove. I topple backwards and he scrambles away. I'm quick to collect myself, grabbing his ankles and pulling him back towards me. His rear is on my lap and his legs are around my waist. He stares up at me looking like he might cry, but I don't allow myself to be swayed by his expression.

"Jesus, Craig!" I growl. "Why are you making this so difficult?" I continue feeling around. I grope at his hips and crotch until I touch something that doesn't feel like it belongs. I pause and stare at Craig. A look of fear makes its way onto his face.

"Kenny, No…" he pleads weakly.

"I knew it!" I spit. "I fucking knew it!" I force his jeans down and he lets out a broken scream. It's a strange sound. Craig isn't one for outbursts. I'm too used to seeing him as quiet and unemotional. He's neither of those things these days.

"STOP!" he shrieks wildly in a tone so high and loud it hurts my ears.

But nonetheless, I retort, "No!"

"RAPE!" he shouts a split second later, nearly sobbing out the word. It causes me to stop in my tracks.

"What?" I nearly choke. Is that how he really feels or is this just one final attempt at forcing me to back off? If it is, it works.

"DAD! _DADDYYYYY_!"

No more than ten seconds later, the bus busts open and Thomas Tucker is standing there with Ruby and his wife as back up. He gives me a look of blatant disgust and I can't even blame him because I know how bad this all looks. I'm sitting on Craig and his clothes are dishevelled and his pants are pulled down half the way. I _do_ look like I was trying to hurt him.

In the blink of an eye, Thomas pries me off of his son and tosses me backwards like a bag of trash. I land at Ruby's feet and she stares at me with a blank expression.

Craig stands and hurries to collect himself, pulling his sweater back down and hiking up his pants. I don't know if it's gravity or what, but his eyes finally begin leaking.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Thomas demands, voice booming.

"I…" my voice cracks.

"Kenny tried to rape me," Craig states hoarsely, not bothering to wipe his eyes. God, what a fucking show he's putting on.

"God!" Laura gasps, moving past her husband and wrapping her arms around Craig and holding him close.

"No, I didn't!" I protest, not wanting this to get added to my reputation. "That's not what I was going!"

"Get out!" she demands coldly, hugging her son. "You're no longer welcome here. We ought to call the cops…"

"No," Craig murmurs. "He didn't actually do anything… it's fine."

I stare at him in disbelief before giving his parents the same look. "You're all fucking blind," I mutter before turning away and leaving.

It's a cycle and Craig isn't quite finished yet. Relapses happen. They should know better.

I stomp down the stairs and outside. Once I'm at the end of the driveway, I hear Ruby calling my name. I turn around and see her standing in the doorway. Once she has my attention, she starts to approach me. Arms crossed, she slowly asks, "What… what happened?"

"I didn't try to do what he said I tried to do!" I snap at her.

"I know," she says calmly. "Chill out."

"God," I whimper, holding my head in my hands. "Why'd he hafta fucking say that?"

"Because he knew it would freak you out long enough for you to stop whatever it was you _were_ doing," she answers easily.

"That's so fucking awful…"

"Craig is like that," she continues. "Spiteful, vindictive... It comes with his constant state of desperation. People in his situation… They do fucked up shit. I'm surprised he hasn't whored around yet."

I laugh humorlessly. "He has too much pride for that," I tell her, but it's the biggest fattest lie because he has slept around. I just don't want Ruby to know about it. Maybe it's wrong of me, but I think she's better of not knowing.

"Pride," she repeats. "Whatever. That's slowly disappearing. If Craig was in his right state of mind, he'd never start crying and screaming for Dad. No matter what. Even if he really _was_ being raped… Hell, he can't even call them _Mom_ and _Dad_. He's using, isn't he?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "I… I told him to take a shower. I knew if he undressed in front of me I'd catch any weird signs. Track marks, maybe. Shit, I don't know how deep he's into this stuff. I don't know what he's taking or how he's taking it, but I knew he was probably packing whatever it is. He hid drugs somewhere on his body. I think they were in his pants. When I got close enough he flipped out. That kind of proved it to me. So, I tried to grab them and I guess… I don't know."

"Desperation," Ruby repeats with a sigh. "You were close to catching him and he got scared. You knew… and that's why you called us blind…. because we didn't notice him start to slip. I think my parents just want so badly to believe Craig is changing as a person, growing away from bad things and growing closer to the idea of family. My parents want to feel needed. My dad wants to feel like he can protect Craig from dangers and my mom wants him to open up. They'll refuse to acknowledge he's still fucking himself up unless he lands himself in the hospital or worse… dead."

I just shrug. "A whole lotta good I did. I probably just messed everything up."

"I'll watch him," she says offhandedly.

"All right," I nod. "Thanks."

"sure," she whispers.

"Anyway," I turn away. "See yah…"

I guess there's nothing I can do now.

* * *

><p>Come night, I'm overcome with a feeling of unease as I'm lying in bed half awake. Something vague about Craig. It's like a dream, but not really because I'm awake. I don't know if my mind is trying to tell me something or if it's just the fear lingering. Still, I decide to go for a walk in an attempt to clear my head. I grab a sweatshirt and slip on my sneakers before leaving. It's dark outside and the wind is blowing right through my pajamas and, worse than that, it's raining. I'm wetter than a dog.<p>

When I reach the main road near the pub, I can hear screaming – faint, yet clear and it's a voice I know and it's a sign I can read. "No, no, no, no, no…!" I keep repeating the words. I follow the sound and see a lone truck parked. Carl Denkin's truck, that much I know. Sirens go off in my head but I stay still.

As much as I'd like to play the hero and save Craig, I know it's a delicate situation. I don't want Denkins to drive off with Craig. So, I pull out my cell phone and dial 911, pleading with them to hurry.

Everything feels like it's going in slow motion. Soon, the sirens are no longer going off in my head. They're coming from down the road, speeding towards the van until they have it circled.

In silence, I watch the doors swing open and I watch Craig fall out of the vehicle – perfectly intact. A cop helps him stand while another puts handcuffs on Denkins.

I near Craig and immediately throw my arms around him. "I'm so sorry!" I practically scream it.

"Why?" he asks airily, putting a hand on my back and patting my awkwardly.

"If he hurt you –" I start, only to be cut off.

"He didn't hurt me," Craig interrupts. He sounds calm and I can't understand why.

I draw away and shove him – hard enough so he stumbles, but he doesn't fall. "Why did you get in the car?" I snap. "I _told_ you… I told you not to! I told you what was going to happen!"

He looks off to the side, guilt written all over him. "You don't get it," he whispers.

"No shit," I mutter. But maybe he just did it to spite me.

When Denkins is loaded into the backseat of the cop car, we're driven down to the precinct as well and asked a bunch of questions. Then they let us go. We have nothing to hide. I guess it's over now. I saved Craig's life… sort of. I thought it would be a little less unceremonious.

"I had sex with him," he confesses as we stand in the middle of the dimly lit street.

"Yeah," I murmur. "That's how the dream went... I kind of guessed."

"I'm so fucking _stupid_," Craig whispers harshly, demeaning himself. "_Everything_ you told me about was happening... and I didn't care. All I could think about was how much I fucking _hated_ you and wanted to _spite_ you... and the only thing I cared about when it was over was how I'd be found. I thought... _Well, ha, I'll make Kenny's nightmare come true_. So I put my fucking clothes on, just like he told me to... and then when I actually saw the weapon..."

"You got scared," I finish after he trails off.

He emits a bitter laugh, tossing his head back and staring up at the sky. "I'm so fucking stupid," he says again, "but seeing it set something off in me. I didn't want to go like that."

"You're not stupid," I offer.

I guess it doesn't matter what I tried to tell him. He had to learn it for himself. And maybe part of it's my fault. I bet I could spend hours contemplating all these little what-ifs. But I won't. I think I'd just drive myself crazier than I already am.

So, what now?

* * *

><p>The following day, I wake up and see Craig sitting on the edge of my bed and he scares the shit out of me. "Christ…!" I snap as he stares at me. "What are you doing here?"<p>

He looks tired… like always. He's wearing plaid pajama pants and a red sweater. He shrugs his shoulders and sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Damn drips again, I'm guessing. Gross.

"It's not your fault," he whispers.

"All right," I whisper back.

His eyelids droop and he lets out a breath before lying down next to me and beginning to weep. Ah. I guess, this time, it wasn't the drips. I can't even be angry with him. I inch closer and put an arm around him, letting him rest against me. Since he's already upset, I decide to finally tell him about his parents… _birth_ parents. That only makes him cry even harder. I feel like this is all we do lately. Cry. Half the time I don't even know why it's happening. Like now, for instance. I guess I assumed he would be happy… or at least curious.

"Ever run away?" I ask him when it's quiet.

He draws away from me and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Once," he admits, smiling bitterly. He brings a palm up and wipes his eyes.

"What happened?" I pry. The idea of Craig running away doesn't really surprise me.

"It was after I found out I was adopted," he says with a sigh. "I was only gone for a day and a night. I did it to get a reaction, I suppose… So, the following day I came home but my parents never even realized I was gone."

"Oh…" I frown at that. How fucking miserable. "Let's go on a road trip," I suggest. Maybe it's a bad time for him to be leaving town, especially after everything that happened... but perhaps, at the same time, it's the exact reason he should.

"Where to?" Craig asks.

"Wherever…" I pause. "To Denver, then we'll see."

He probably knows why I'm suggesting it, nonetheless he agrees. Maybe it'll be good for him to get away from this Podunk town. Maybe, deep down, he wants the closure that will come with meeting his birth parents.

* * *

><p>I steal my dad's car for the weekend. He probably won't notice it missing. We back bags of clothes and other things before meeting up. Day becomes night and the moon lights up the mountain town. "Ready?" I ask, looking at Craig.<p>

"Ready," he responds.


	6. The truth

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

><p>The drive takes us one hour and forty-five minutes. Not bad. It's past midnight when we arrive. We stop at the first motel we see and I rent a room since Craig is already conked in the passenger seat. He's drooling again. It's fuckin' adorable.<p>

With the key in hand, I return to my car and wake him up. "We're here," I say, giving him a gentle shake.

He opens his bleary eyes a moment later and sits up. There's a crease on his cheek from where it was pressed against the seatbelt. "That was fast," he murmurs, getting out of the car and wiping his mouth.

"You slept for most of the ride," I say as we walk to our room. It's a bit crusty and there are some questionable specks and smudges on the carpet. It's hardly classy, but what can yah do with such little money? Not much. I only have a few hundred saved up and it has to last us for the weekend. Gas. Food. Shelter. The works.

We flop onto the bed and I try to ignore the fact that we're probably sleeping on year old spooge stains. I don't end up falling asleep, but Craig doesn't seem to have a problem dozing off. I watch him for hours, listening to him breathing and staring at his chest as it rises and falls.

I hope this works. I hope he gets the closure he needs. I hope he can be provided with an excuse as to why he was abandoned.

* * *

><p>Come morning, we get breakfast at McDonald's. I pay because I'm the only one with money. Afterward, I grab the piece of paper with the address Kyle gave me and get Craig to type it into my iPhone GPS as we drive.<p>

"Here we go," I sing-song.

He doesn't look thrilled. He looks the opposite of thrilled. He lets out a sigh, leaning his head against the window. "Think they'll deny my existence?" he wonders. "I mean… You see that a lot on television shows and shit. The kid will go find their birth parents and they'll insist they never had a child. The fucking end."

I smile somewhat sympathetically. I'm not sure what kind of people they are. I wish I could tell him sincerely that everything is going to be fine and they'll love him, but who the fuck knows for sure? Not me. "I don't know, dude," I say honestly. "It might take a while to actually find them," I add. "This address is the last known address of theirs. I mean, they might've moved… They might not even be in the state anymore."

"Let's hope they are," he mutters. "I want to get this over with."

It doesn't take us long to pull up to the address but when we arrive we are greeted with a somewhat disheartening sight. We get out of the car and stand in front of an empty lot.

"Hey, excuse me," I ask the nearest bystander – an old woman. "What happened to this building?"

She gives me a once-over before responding. "There was a fire a long time ago," she says solemnly. "This is a poorer part of town, so they were never able to rebuild it. They just tore it down and left it."

Oh, fuck... Fuck!

"D-did anyone die?" I ask, practically stuttering out the question. Craig crosses his arms and he's likely thinking the exact same thing as I am.

She nods. "Couldn't tell you the names… but there's a memorial page on the internet."

"Oh," I say hoarsely, trying not to choke on my own spit. "Thanks." I take Craig's hand and we wander back to the car, leaning against the door. I open my phone, trying to find a list of names – something, anything that will give us answers. "Here we go," I murmur, scrolling through a long list of victims. Two names stick out – they're familiar names I've seen on Kyle's computer screen. Fuck, I should have googled this before dragging Craig all the way here. I'm so fucking spastic someone should shoot me.

_Taniel Vardanian  
>Zabel Vardanian<em>

"There," I whisper, pointing to the names and tilting the screen towards Craig.

Craig leans forward and murmurs a, "Hm." With a sense of finality, he adds, "Well, I guess that's that. Let's go back." He opens the car door and sits inside, crossing his arms. He looks like he doesn't care, but I know he probably does. It's saddening, but at least it's closure. Though… I'm sure it's not the type he wanted.

The ride back is tense and quiet, unsurprisingly. When we return to our motel, Craig announces, "I'm taking a shower."

I nod my head and watch him leaf through his bag, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt. I sit on the bed and soon enough I hear the shower taps turn on.

Poor Craig. For fuck's sake, I really do make his life miserable. I wonder if he sees it this way as well. After a few minutes, I slowly rise to my feet and walk to the bathroom door, pressing my ear against the wood. It's faint, but Craig is crying. Fuck. It makes me want to cry, too. But I don't. I just stay still for a few minutes. I stay still until he goes quiet and the taps turn off.

I move away and lie down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he exits the bathroom he's dressed in his night clothes. His hair is damp and his eyes are a bit red, but otherwise he looks normal.

"They were Armenian…" I tell him. "Your birth parents, I mean. They were Armenian."

"Armenian," Craig repeats flatly.

I just shrug. "I'm not really surprised. I mean, you always did look a bit different than your, uh, other parents."

"They're not my parents," he whispers.

"Yes, they _are_," I tell him pointedly. "They raised you. They love you. If you let them, they can help you. Family isn't always blood, Craig. See, it's not that these people didn't want you. They didn't abandon you. They _died_."

His lower lip trembles and he lets out a shuddery breath, rubbing a hand down his tired face. "Whatever…" he whispers. "Don't tell me anything else. I don't want to know them."

"Fine," I say, relenting. "I'm going to get take out," I tell him. "Want anything?"

"No," he mutters.

"Want to come along for the ride?" I ask.

"No," he mutters again, sounding even duller than before.

"I'm really sorry, Craig," I say sincerely. Fuck, if I knew this is how it would all end up I wouldn't have had Kyle find me the information in the first place. Here I am, once again making everything worse. God, someone should seriously shoot me.

I leave without another word. Maybe he needs a few minutes alone. I go to the nearest fast food joint and get a burger. I eat in the car and then drive back to the motel. It's still pretty early and the sky is slowing growing dim.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and stare up at the moon. It's full tonight. When we were kids, we'd make wishes on nights like this. They never came true, but that never stopped us.

If I could make a wish now I'd want for Craig to be okay. I'd want him to find peace within himself and the world he lives in. Ha, if only it were that simple.

* * *

><p>By the time I get back to the motel, our room is dim, too. I see the faint shape of Craig lying in bed.<p>

"Dude, it's too early to sleep," I say, flicking the lights on. When I do, my stomach tightens. Craig is in an awkward position with his head hanging off the pillow. I know he couldn't have fallen asleep like that. "Craig…?" I hurry to his side and start shouting his name. I try shaking him, but he only lolls back and forth limply. "Craig… Craig!" I keep shouting his name, refusing to bend down and check his pulse. I don't want to be greeted with nothingness. My breath comes in heavy as I grab my phone, dialling 911. I feel like I do this too often.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_

"I n-need help…" I whimper, staring at Craig. "My friend… h-he isn't waking up…"

_"Is he unconscious?"_

"Yes!" I nearly shout. I won't mention drugs. I don't want the cops here.

_"Sir, please stay calm,"_ the voice says. _"Give us the address and we'll send a unit over." _

I do so and plead, "Hurry…"

_"Stay with me, sir,"_ she continues. _"The unit is on their way. For now, I'm going to ask you to check the pulse."_

I hold my breath and move towards the bed. "Please, please, please, please, please, please…" I whisper to myself. I put the phone on the mattress and lean over Craig, pressing my ear to his chest.

_Bump_…

I sniffle, curling my fingers into his shirt.

_Bump…_

I move away from him and pick up the phone again. "H-hello?" I ask, finding it hard to breathe. I feel hot, like I've been sitting under the sun for too long. My palms are clammy and I'm sweating.

_"Sir, did you check?" _

"It's weak…" I tell her, croaking out the words.

_"Has he taken anything?"_ she asks. _"Drugs of any sort?"_

"I d-don't know," I say. "I didn't see…"

_"Put him in the recovery position and check his airways,"_ she instructs. Fuck, she probably knows I'm lying.

"I don't…" I start, trailing off. It's overwhelming. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

_"Roll your friend into his side,"_ she explains calmly, "_and then see if there's anything stuck in his throat_."

I do as she asks and stick my fingers down his throat. There's nothing in there, thank Christ. I wipe my fingers on my jeans and soon I can hear faint sirens wailing in the distance. Then suddenly, I remember something. In a nauseous daze, I hang up the phone and glance around the room. On the night stand, I find a tin of drug paraphernalia. In a fit of anger, I empty Craig's remaining stash of crap into the toilet and flush away the evidence. It's gone, but it won't undo what happened and maybe Craig will only hate me for this. Maybe he needs to be the one to make this first step. He will. He will… He'll get better. He'll be okay. He'll be okay. He'll be okay.

I let out a sob as I leave the bathroom, trying not to look at him. I step outside and soon hear sirens getting closer and closer.

Two paramedics – male and female – exit the vehicle and I weakly call, "He's in here…"

They are brisk and stern looking. The woman grabs his legs and the man grabs his arms and they spread him out on the floor. The man pries open his eyes and says, "Constriction of the pupils…"

"I th-think he overdosed," I tell them. They hear me, but they don't acknowledge me.

"He's not breathing," the woman adds after checking his pulse.

"Bag him," the man responds, not missing a beat.

"Wh-what does that mean?" I croak.

"We're going to try to resuscitate him," he explains. "Please, stand back."

They press an Ambu bag over his mouth and all I can do is stand lifelessly and watch. My heart is beating so fast it hurts and I swear each second lasts an hour.


	7. The hospital

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

* * *

><p><em>Beep.<em>

_Beep._

_Beep._

God, the sound is driving me crazy. I hate hospitals… but at least Craig is stabilized. He's alive. They said he'll wake up soon and he'll be in rough shape. I didn't find that surprising.

I called his parents. They should be here soon… but right now, it's just me and Craig alone in this room. I stare down at him lying in the cot, clad in a blue gown. There's a cannula in his nose and some tubes in his arms. He looks paler than usual. I reach a hand forward and touch his face – his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. I sniffle some more and let out a breath.

When I turn around, I see his parents standing in the doorway. They stare at me as if they don't know what to make of my presence.

"You found him," Laura says. Her voice is terse, but I can tell it's not anger she's feeling – at least, not towards me.

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Is this what you do when you're together?" Thomas snaps at me. "Are you the one who did this to him?"

"No!" I protest desperately. "I don't do this… I don't… I don't do drugs…"

"Thomas," Laura puts a hand on her husband's shoulder, trying to calm him down. They move into the room and I decide to vacate, making space for them.

I sit in the waiting area and wrap my arms around myself. I tap my feet impatiently, feeling restless. What exactly am I waiting for? For Craig to wake up? For his parents to scream at me to leave their kid alone? For his dad to kick the crap out of me? For his mom to try and have me arrested? I don't fucking know.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to distract myself until a voice says my name –

"Kenny, right?"

I look up and see Craig's mom standing a few feet away. "Yeah," I say.

"You never tried to hurt him, did you?" Her voice is soft and it's not quite a question. It's more of a realization.

"Never," I whisper, though it's a slight lie. She doesn't need to know about the punches I've thrown or the shitty things I've said. It all seems a little irrelevant at this point in time.

"He's always been trouble," she admits, sitting down next to me, "but we didn't mind. We loved him all the same. We loved him as if he were ours… He _is_ ours… We've had him since he was two. Even then, he wasn't a happy child. I think it put a lot of stress on Thomas. He was always very quiet and too independent for his age. The fact that Craig is so unhappy makes Thomas feel like a failure as a parent. Craig has never wanted anything to do with us... Plus, he's sick. He's a very sick boy. Even after his diagnosis, he wouldn't let me or Thomas do a thing to ease him. Perhaps we only have ourselves to blame. Thomas works a lot and, these days, so do I."

"It's not your husband's fault," I murmur. "It's not yours… it's not Craig's. In a way, it's like when kids fall in with the wrong crowd."

"How?" she asks pleadingly. "He never talks to us…"

"Jason," I start simply. "They used to be friends. He's a dealer. He got Craig into stuff he shouldn't've been dabbling with. Then they had a falling out, but Jason's still using him and Craig's letting it happen. H-he… He helps Craig hurt himself."

"Hurt himself…?" she questions, brows drawing together warily.

I can feel my eyes leaking. I run a hand through my hair and sniffle some more. "He, uh…" I let out a breath. "He has very little self-respect. Since he doesn't have money, he finds other ways to pay for the drugs Jason hands him."

"Oh." She leans forward, head in hands. "Fuck…" she whispers wetly.

"He feels unwanted," I continue, feeling solemn and sounding even more so. "Maybe the drugs numb that feeling… and maybe the sex helps. I don't know."

"With women?" she asks.

"Men," I correct. "I'm not the one who hurt your son, Mrs. Tucker. Jason is."

She puts her palms over her mouth and briefly squeezes her eyes shut. "_Why_?" she asks in a muffled tone. "_Why_ would he do that?"

"Jason hates Craig," I murmur. "That's all there is to it. Jason is vindictive and spiteful and low-key evil. He says… he likes to have control over Craig. He likes humiliating him." And maybe I should shut my damn mouth, but I can't. I feel for Craig's parents, really, I do. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a child and not know what's going on in their life… knowing they're in so much pain and not being able to do a damn thing about it. It's for the best that they know.

"I remember them playing together when they were little," she says offhandedly, sounding like the memories are painful. She places her palms on her knees and sighs. "Jason's mother passed away and his father worked, so I would look after him. Jason was… Well, he wasn't a nice boy. He made Craig cry a lot when they were young. I always thought it was just children being children… nothing more. I mean… Kids are like that, you know? They're not really capable of understanding what they're doing is mean or wrong. They're… innocently selfish."

"Yeah," I say softly. I never realized Craig and Jason went back that far, but I guess it makes sense. The amount of hatred they both hold for one another is something that has probably been piling up for years and years.

"When they were twelve I caught Jason holding Craig down, touching him," she continues distantly. "There was this… faraway look in Craig's eyes and I knew he didn't understand what Jason was doing to him. So, I separated them and I told Jason's father I wouldn't be able to babysit anymore. He didn't seem to care when I told him why. He said, 'Boys will be boys.' But I disagreed. Boys still need to be held accountable. I wasn't going to let Jason near my son after that, but there's only so much I could do. I guess Jason found his way back. I couldn't always be around to protect Craig... and he never wanted me to."

I swallow the growing lump in my throat and hoarsely say, "Oh…" I guess Jason has been fucking with Craig for a long, long time.

"Is he gay?" she pries further. "Craig, I mean?"

"Would that bother you?" I retort, glancing at her.

"_No_…!" she insists quickly. "No, no… No, it wouldn't. I just… I never knew. I'm his mother and I know nothing about him."

"I love him," I decide to confess. "I mean… I'm _in love_ with him. I don't know if he feels the same way, but I know he feels _something_ for me… So, that counts. I don't mind that he's been with a lot of guys. I don't mind that there are days he'll act like a completely different person. I don't mind any of that…"

She nods gently. "I'm glad," she says sincerely.

"I've been with him, but it's like… He won't even look at me when we sleep together," I murmur. Maybe it's a weird thing to be telling his mom, but I can't find it in me to give a shit. "It makes me feel like he doesn't even want to be in the moment with me. He says he can't separate the sex we have and the sex he's had with everyone else."

Laura looks somber. "He doesn't trust easily," she says, "but I'm sure you already know that much. He's never told me and Thomas that he loves us. I suppose he doesn't. I think… that no matter who says it and no matter how many times, there's a voice in his head that tells him everyone is lying."

"I think he trusts me," I admit. "Not a lot… but a little bit. It's on and off, but sometimes he'll be real with me. He'll cry or smile. It's relieving to know he can still feel things – good things. I used to think he was like a zombie – moving around, but never feeling a damn thing. I know that's not true now. Craig feels things. He feels a lot. Sometimes I think he just feels too much and doesn't know how to handle it all."

"Yes," she agrees quietly before suddenly asking, "Do you know anything about a man named Carl Denkins?"

"Carl Denkins?" I repeat, grimacing.

"He's one of Thomas' friends," she says, letting out a long breath. "He was arrested the other day. The newspaper said..." She shakes her head, frowning. "I just... I can't –" she cuts herself off, shaking her head again.

"You can't believe it," I finish, filling in the blanks. "You can't believe a man you've known, a friendly neighbor, would do something so vile... least of all to your son."

Laura raises her head and stares blankly at the wall. "I didn't know. This is yet _another_ thing about Craig I didn't know. He keeps everything to himself. They didn't say Craig's name in the newspaper, so of course I tried to brush off the event an distance myself from it as best as I could. I didn't want to think about it... but a police came to our door and then it all clicked." A pause. "We allowed that man into our home..." she whispers gravely. "Countless times, we've allowed him near Craig."

"It's not your fault," I insist yet again. "You didn't know what was going through his head every time he saw Craig. People like that... It doesn't take much for them to grow obsessed. That's what they're like. It doesn't take much for them to latch onto a person. Maybe all Craig did was smile at him. Maybe it wasn't even a real smile."

Craig can be charming when he wants to be. With his pretty looks, it's a lethal combination.

"There will be a trial," Laura adds. "Craig is going to hate that."

"It'll be over soon," I offer, but maybe I'm lying. Craig still has a lot of shit to work through. That part of it might never be over.

Laura simply nods her head, offering me a faint and lackluster smile. "Thank you for being honest with me," she says before standing up. "I'm going to join Thomas and see if Craig has woken up yet."

I nod and tell her I'm going to stay here. If Craig is awake, they'll probably want a moment alone with him. I let out a breath and lean back in my chair, staring at the white walls. After a few minutes, I stand up and wander back to Craig's room. I stand outside the door and listen to the faint sounds of voices. No yelling, so that's a good sign.

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a doctor exits. "Are you family?" he asks me once he shuts the door.

"Yeah," I lie. "I'm the one who called 911… So, how he is?"

"He'll be fine," the doctor says wearily, as if saving a kid's life is tiring. I want to snap at him, but I don't. Instead I simply nod my head and watch the asshole walk off.

After a few more minutes of hovering, I decide to make my presence known. I knock on the door before opening it and softly saying, "Hi."

Craig's mom offers me a small smile while his dad remains still. Craig is awake. He looks angry and miserable. His mom is holding his hand in hers. She doesn't look like she wants to let it go. I might not have the right but I say, "Can I talk to Craig for a sec?"

Strangely, they let me. They leave the room and when they're gone, me and Craig simply stare at one another.

"I'm glad you didn't die," I say bluntly. I want to smack myself when the words leave my mouth, but I don't know how else to express my relief. Nonetheless, he doesn't look mad.

"Me, too," he confesses quietly. "Again… thanks for saving my dumb ass."

"I love you," I decide to tell him. I approach his bedside, taking the place his mother was standing just a minute earlier.

"Love," he echoes in a murmur. "How quaint." A pause. "So, aren't you going to ask me if I did it on purpose?"

"No," I admit. "I already know the answer."

He smiles hazily. "Of course you do. You know everything, don't you?"

"Not quite," I say, offering him a small smile in return.

Life is the slowest death. I know Craig would agree. So, maybe it doesn't matter that he didn't succeed in his attempt. Maybe, in the meantime, he'll find ways of killing himself on the inside to make up for it. Maybe that's what he's been doing his whole life. Perhaps someday he'll stop and allow himself to feel something good for a change, but until then…

I grab his hand and hold it in mine. He's clammy and sallow-skinned, but he's alive. In the end, that's what matters.


	8. The end

**South Park © Matt & Trey**

**And here's the epilogue~**

**I also might end up changing the title to this fic eventually. **

* * *

><p>After Craig's overdose, I went back to South Park. I got a job at the book depository in an attempt to distract myself from life in general. Craig stayed in Denver. He ended up in rehab. It's not conventional, but at least he couldn't fuck himself over while he was locked away. He's been in there a month. Every time I saw him, he looked healthier and healthier. He got a glow. I hope that doesn't change as he's welcomed back into the real world. He is home now, but I haven't seen him since he left. He hasn't called me and I haven't called him. It's been a few days, but I can't wait anymore. So, instead, I decide to invite myself over. It's getting late, but I know he won't mind.<p>

Not much has changed in the long run. Kyle finally made a move on Eric and then let fat-boy stick it up his ass on the first date. That surprised me. I didn't peg Kyle as the fast type, but he seems happy in a humored sort of way. I'm pretty sure Eric is on cloud nine. Good for them, I guess. At least some of us have it together.

Last night I had a good dream about Craig and fuck, that was the most relief I've ever felt in my entire life. In it, we were talking. Just talking. Not even about anything entirely important, just the small things. He had a smile on his face and it made me smile, too. I guess it sounds simple and unceremonious, but I know it meant something.

When our conversation came to a close I asked, "_So, have you suffered enough?_"

In a soft voice, he said, "_Yes_." He sounded small. So small. I don't know if it was a lie. I don't know when it will happen in the future. There are a lot of things I don't know. Funny, I used to think I knew a lot. Now I understand that things are so much more complicated than what you see. Feelings can't always be seen. People's hearts don't always show.

From here on, I'll forever take comfort in my more mundane dreams. I hope I never have a nightmare again, especially not one about Craig.

When I arrive at the Tucker residence Craig's little sister, Ruby, answers the door, offering me a smile. "He's taking a bath," she says, knowing exactly who I came to see.

"Oh, I'll wait," I tell her.

"No need," she winks, nodding for me to follow her upstairs. "Craig used to love baths. When we were kids, he'd refuse showers. He took baths 'til he was fifteen, but don't tell him I told you that!" She laughs at the memory. "I guess he finds them relaxing, even now." She runs into her room and when she returns she's holding a fine-toothed comb.

"Uh, Ruby," I protest. "Are you sure you should be doing that?" But she ignores me, naturally. She digs it into the knob, swinging the door open when she hears a faint _click_.

Craig is sitting in the bath tub, leaning against the wall with closed eyes. For a split second he looks serene and calm, but when he sees us that changes. "Christ, Ruby!" he immediately growls at her, sitting up straight and glaring at the both of us. "I'm naked in here!"

"He's all yours," she says, winking at me before ushering me inside. She closes the door afterward, leaving me alone with her brother.

"I guess Ruby is captain of the ship that is you and me," I joke lightly.

He visibly relaxes. "She wants me to be happy," he says. "She knows you make me happy."

The confession gives me a warm feeling in my chest. Instead of opening my mouth and saying something corny, I just smile. "How was rehab?"

"How do you think?" he answers my question with one of his own.

"Crappy?" I offer.

He only shrugs. I guess that's as good an answer I'll ever get from him. "So," he starts. "Gonna join me?"

"If you want me to," I say.

"I want you to," he decides, moving to make room for me.

I smile again and remove my sweater before shedding the rest of my clothes. "Are you worried about the trial?" I wonder.

"Hm," he muses. "Some people came to talk to me when I was in rehab. I told them what they wanted to know, yet again. These things take time. Until the date is set, I'm going to try not to think about it."

"I'll be there," I tell him. "If you want me to be, that is."

"Thanks," he murmurs.

"Ah." I sink into the water next to him. It's warm. "Did you remember your pills?" I ask, resting my knees on either sides of the bath.

"_Yes_," he says pointedly. "You gonna start reminding me every damn day? My mother does that. My parents have been up my ass since I came home."

_Mother_. At least he's acknowledging that Laura and Thomas are his parents.

"Sorry," I murmur. "It's better this way, don't you think?"

"What?" he scoffs. "Now I'm taking the _right_ kind of drug? There's no such fucking thing."

"It's for the best," I insist. "We're all being annoying because we care."

"I _stopped_ using," Craig says. He pauses and then lets out a bitter laugh. "I went to rehab and now I'm sober. No one ever fuckin' believes me when I say that."

"I do," I promise him. And, hey, maybe it won't last. Maybe Craig will relapse and go back to the person he was mere months ago. Maybe he'll go back to Jason… but then again, maybe he won't. Time will tell. But I don't think about that. For now, I'll just be happy with this quiet moment right here. I'll be happy he's once again letting me be a part of his life. So, I guess this is it. Things come full circle.

"Clyde, Bebe, Tweek, Token, Red…" he lists, laughing bitterly. "None of them believe me. They just give me hazy smiles and nod, like they're waiting for me to fuck up again. I guess my reputation is shit, even with my friends."

"Prove them wrong, then," I say.

"I will," he responds surely.

"So, did you patch things up with your parents?" I ask.

"I suppose," he says. "They came to see me most days. They mostly made me feel guilty, even though I know they weren't trying to. I felt, like, really shitty for putting them through so much and making them feel like I didn't care about them. So, I'm trying to be better. Different. I'm trying to show them I love them and whatever... but the words still come out strained. I feel out of place saying it and even more out of place when I think it's something I have. I guess I feel like I don't deserve it, or like it's just not something people are possible of feeling for me. So, even when I say it, it comes out sounding insincere."

"I'm sure they appreciate it nonetheless," I offer.

He looks thoughtful. "I have to see a therapist once a week," he murmurs. "She'll help me manage my illness and _addictive tendencies_."

"Good," I murmur.

"Hm," he agrees faintly.

"Your mom told me about your history with Jason," I decide to confess. "She told the beginning and I guess I told the end."

He wrinkles his nose. "Great," he mutters.

"You can't keep letting him screw with you," I say softly. "Especially not after he did so much bad..."

"I know," he admits. "It's not healthy, is it?"

I shake my head. "It's probably the opposite of healthy. You shouldn't let people who hate you touch you. It's okay to ask for help, y'know. Next time Jason comes around, tell him to go away. If he doesn't listen, tell your dad. Tell me. Tell Clyde or Token."

"I guess..." he starts, pausing. "I guess I just got used to it. To _him_. He's been a constant presence in my life for a long, long time. He was never nice to me. It only got worse when we were older. I guess I tried to compensate for it and be a dick to him in return, but he was always worse. He always came out on top. Literally. But still, I'd be at his side ready to do whatever he wanted me to do. I wanted what he was offering me. I didn't care what I had to do to get it. I'd fuck him. I'd fuck anyone."

Hearing it say it just makes me feel so fucking sorry for him. "Do you still want what he offers?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says with a bitter laugh. "Fuck, I want it. I know you probably don't want to hear it, but it's like... That's how addiction is, y'know. It's constantly there until it's not and even though I'm sober right now, I don't want to be. I miss being high... but looking back on it all it just kind of sucks. I wish I could've done things differently."

I nod faintly. "Yeah."

"I'm trying not to let the shame sink in, but there's so much of it. It's impossible to ignore... My therapist is trying to help me with that, too." He pauses before bitterly finishing, "Everyone thinks I'm disgusting."

"I don't," I offer him sincerely. "I don't think you're disgusting."

"But, still, I'll try to stay sober," he decides.

"Try for yourself," I tell him. He glances to the side, staring off into space. He looks contemplative, but I feel like he's just trying to escape what I'm saying. "You deserve to be happy, y'know." I've said it before and I'll say it again.

"Do I?" he wonders, giving me the same answer he gave me the first time I said it.

"Yeah," I insist before once more saying, "You're a good person."

It's quiet now. I stare at him – all of him. After a moment, he stares back at me. He inches towards me and grabs one of my hands, guiding me between his legs. There's a wanton look on his face as I touch him. I like seeing him like this. He looks at ease, comfortable – definitely more so than the first time I touched him. I wonder what's changed. Well, I guess everything did. Everything changed and everything will continue to change because that's the way of the shitty world.

He wraps his arms around my neck, drawing himself closer. "Feels good…" he mumbles softly, shallow breaths escaping. "Faster…" God, he's cute. I lean forward and kiss him, pleased when his lips immediately part. He moans into my mouth, growing louder. "I… I'm…" he trails off, breath hitching as he cries out.

And fuck, it's beautiful.

We continue to sit like this and he breathes into my shoulder, arms still locked around my neck. "We should get out," he softly decides after a few minutes pass. He draws away, offering me a smile and it's sincere. Somewhat humored, but still sincere. His eyes squint and I can see the dimples in his cheeks. This time, unlike last time, there is no malice.

I grin at him and we both get out. He pulls the plug and we towel off, throwing our clothes back on. I get into my day clothes while Craig puts on his night clothes. We walk back down the hallway and when we pass Ruby's open door she perversely asks, "Have fun? Nah, you don't have to answer. I could _hear_ how much fun you guys were having."

Craig holds up his middle finger, silently telling her to shut up. I smile slightly, steering Craig further down the hallway and into his own room.

"Stay over tonight," Craig requests.

"All right," I say with another smile.

He kills the lights and I shrug out of my jeans so I'm left in shorts and my t-shirt. Then I crawl into bed with Craig. He settles against me, throwing a leg over me.

"What are we?" I can't help but ask. I've been wanting to ask for a long while but there hasn't been time for it lately.

"Whatever you want us to be," he says.

"What about what _you_ want?" I respond.

"I don't care," he murmurs before quickly adding, "I mean, I care about _you_… but I don't care what we are as long as we're together like this. You _know_ me. You see me for me. You make me feel safe… warm. I've never felt that way before. I tried to brush it off at first, but you can't exactly brush of feelings. When you try, it just does the opposite. You end up feeling everything ten times more than you felt it in the beginning."

"I guess we kind of did things in reverse," I say with a chuckle, "but Craig, wanna go out with me?"

I hear him let out a soft laugh in response. "All right."

And it's quiet again, a languid haze of contentedness taking over. So, here we lay – tangled together, tired bodies intertwined. I feel like I could stay like this forever, but I can't. It seems unfair. With all the fucked up suffering he's been through, he deserves this peace and quiet. He deserves the fucking world. I'd like to give it to him, but I can't do that either.

So, I'll try not to think about all the things I _can't_ do. I'll try to think about the things I _can_ do and I'll take comfort in the sounds of his breathing. He's warm and he's alive and he's right here with me. That means a hell of a lot.

**Fin.**


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